


But first they must catch you

by MostDismalFeldsparkle (Most_Dismal_Feldsparkle)



Series: Et in Arcadia ego [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Depression, F/M, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 55,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Most_Dismal_Feldsparkle/pseuds/MostDismalFeldsparkle
Summary: So some of the readers of digger, listener, runner, prince expressed interest in a sequel on the longer term consequences of the traumas occurring in and before that story.This will be that.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Et in Arcadia ego [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708813
Comments: 420
Kudos: 214





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> People who have read dlrp: You don’t have to read this if you don’t want to. The optimistic ending of dlrp was warranted... it’s just a little more complicated than that.
> 
> People who haven’t read dlrp: I can’t imagine this is many people, but you could probably read this independently. You are smart readers. I trust you.

Crowley woke suddenly. It took his brain a moment to orientate him, safety on his own bed. A strange sensation, like tripping or spinning, slowly settled down, and the fragments of a dream fled to oblivion, even as he reached for them.

He lay, for a few moments, really only noticing that he was breathing rather quickly for someone who was lying down and that there was a cat purring on his chest. Then, he noticed something else. The shower was running.

A glance at his phone confirmed that this was too early for a normal morning shower, which meant...

He launched himself out of bed, rudely dislodging the cat, and covered the short distance to the dark bathroom in mere seconds.

But it was fine. Well... not _fine_... but not...

He could just make out Ari in the low light, standing in the shower stream, facing the taps - _why does he do that? Who does that_? - staring, vacantly.

Crowley wanted to scream with relief, but he bit back on it, hard, taking two large steps backwards, then approaching again, making as much noise as possible. Heavy footsteps, loud theatrical yawning. Much less startling than a sudden scream of outraged relief in the door frame.

“It’s not even 3am, Angel!” he exclaimed. “Shut your eyes, I need to turn on the light.”

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Ari answered softly.

“I don’t think you did, actually,” Crowley lied. “Heartburn.”

He flicked on the light, pretending to search for the antacid, but actually scanning the shower. 

Just _making sure_. 

No blades. No red-tinged water. 

Just a despondent, dead-eyed shower in the middle of the night, in the dark.

_Just_.

“Mind if I join you?” Crowley asked, with a chipperness he not only didn’t feel, but which was downright ridiculous for this situation. For _any_ 3am situation really, but especially... “It’s alright to say no! No pressure.”

Ari blinked. “Of course, my dear. If you like...”

“Lovely! Do you mind if I take my clothes off?” Crowley answered sunnily, his tone not permitting any sense that this was a ridiculous thing to have to ask before getting into a shower.

“Whatever you like, dear,” Ari answered, not quite making eye contact.

Crowley did strip off, although not confidently, and carefully entered the shower. 

There was plenty of space. Despite its carefully sculpted facade, the “cottage” was brand new, with spacious designer kitchens and bathrooms. Crowley had built it when getting Ari back into the manor was just not working out. 

A new place, built for both of them, with no bad memories. 

( _Or... that had been the idea._ )

Not for the first time, Crowley wondered what people DID in these sort of situations, if they couldn’t afford to up and _move_.  


  
Just got on with it, he supposed.  


( _But HOW, for fucks sake?_ )  
  


“Shhh, my love, it’s alright,” he crooned, reaching out for Ari’s shoulder with care. There was a flinch, but a moment later, a sort of apologetic pressure leaning in to his touch, and slowly, silently, an embrace was negotiated between them, Crowley, taller, the encircler, his cheek resting on Ari’s head.  


  
“What’s happening? Are you okay? What do you need?”

“I just needed a shower,” Ari murmured. He sounded sad and tired now, instead of flat and blank, an improvement, though an agonizingly unpleasant one. “I had a dream and... when I woke up, I needed a shower. Was sweating. Smelled bad.”

“I like how you smell,” Crowley answered. 

Things were quiet for a moment, stable, but then Crowley misjudged his sweeping caresses a little, his fingers brushing against one of the scars on Ari’s abdomen.

“Don’t!” Ari gasped pulling out of the hug.

“Angel...” Crowley whispered, hoping he sounded only miserable and patient, rather than miserable and devastated.

“Just not... not _that_ scar. It’s ugly. The worst one.”

It _wasn’t_ actually.It was, however, the scar that had been the stoma from the temporary colostomy Ari had needed after... well, after _Gabriel..._ and, for whatever reason, it was the scar Ari seemed least able to make peace with.

“Angel, it’s just a scar,” Crowley sighed, heavily. “I’m sorry I touched it, it was an accident, and I will try to be more careful. But, it’s not ugly... it’s just a part of you...”

“No it’s not!” Ari snapped back, not actually loudly,but loud for a 3am conversation in a bathroom.  


He immediately looked apologetic, no _worse_ than apologetic, _devastated_.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to... I’ll turn up the hot water. It’s too cold for you.”

“I’m the one gate-crashing _your_ shower,” Crowley objected, gently. “ _You_ set the temperature.”

“I don’t mind, though,” Ari insisted. 

Because Crowley was actually cold, he let this go, and the water jet grew pleasantly warm, and a soft mist began to fill the air.

“You never saw it, you know” Ari forced out suddenly. “When it was, you know, a _bag_. So, you just don’t understand!”

“You didn’t _let_ me see it,” Crowley corrected as gently as he could. “I wanted to. Wanted to help you, but...”

“We barely knew each other,” Ari replied, as if Crowley was being ridiculous. “I wanted you to find me... well, ‘beautiful’ was always out of the question.. but certainly not... like _that_.”

The last few words were expelled venomously, and most of Crowley’s instincts insisted on arguing.  
On insisting that it _wouldn’t_ have changed how Crowley had felt about the maddening, impossibly beautiful man before him.  
_Couldn’t_ have changed how he’d felt. How _nothing_ could have.  
However much they had barely known each other.

But, instead, Crowley swallowed the bile of his hurt...  


...Because Ari was rubbing the inside of his left wrist with his right thumb.

And, it was the scars _there_ chilled Crowley, in a way the stoma scar never could.

“ I don’t want to fight, Angel,” he said, instead. “I adore every inch of you, you are _so_ beautiful to me. But, I’m sorry I touched you in a way you don’t like, and I _will_ be more careful. Okay?” 

“I know. I’m not _really_ cross. I’m sorry I shouted. So sorry.”

Crowley kissed the top of his head. “You didn’t shout. It’s just the acoustics in here. Really. Don’t feel bad. I just want to get you comfy, and tucked up back in bed, when you are ready. Okay?”

“I shouldn’t shout at you. That’s not okay.”

“It wouldn’t be,” Crowley conceded, “but you _didn’t_.”

“Elijah used to shout, when he had a bad day. I don’t want to be like that.”

Crowley knew by now that Elijah often did a great deal worse than shout when he had a bad day. Or even a mediocre day. But it wasn’t the moment to point that out.  


  
“You _AREN’T_ like that. You are cuddly, and lovely, and, there is a world of difference between not being perfectly tempered all the time, and being abusive. And, it’s that black-and-white thinking _thingy,_ to say otherwise. Didn’t you and Rae talk about that?”

Ari sighed. “Rae talked about a cycle of violence, too...”

The words made Crowley felt very tired indeed, but he forced himself to remember exactly who he should be angry with about that, and who he definitely shouldn’t be. 

  
“Yup. Heard of that one. Important concept. Not relevant _here,_ though.”

_Choose your reactions. Live your values_ , he muttered to himself. _Fucking therapists_.

Except Rae. Rae seemed just as determined to rescue Ari from his nightmares as Crowley himself was, and Crowley really liked that about him.

“Oh, my dear Anthony,” Ari murmured. “You deserve so much better than me.”

Outwardly, Crowley cooed that this was nonsense, and inwardly, he did what he normally did, and imagined pouring fire ants over Elijah Sanderson’s head.  


  
And when that didn’t work, fire ants that actually breathed fire.  


And when that didn’t work, actual ant-sized dragons...

...and then, dragon-sized dragons.

With gentleness he didn’t really feel and patience he didn’t really have, Crowley soothed and cajoled Ari back into bed, fully intending to stay awake until he was sure his boyfriend was safely asleep...

...But he was so exhausted, he wasn’t certain he’d managed it.

He awoke alone to a breakfast tray, a long-stemmed Gerbera Daisy in a small vase, and a hand written note.  


He snatched for the note, knocking the daisy to the floor...

... but it was only a _note_. An apology note for keeping him up all night.

Crowley’s eyes started to sting, and he whined through his teeth in frustration.

He was just so tired.

There was a text on his phone from Ana.

“Anthony, Go back to therapy.”

_ Just. So. Tired. _

* * *

Newt was finding it difficult to stop watching the little girl over his magazine.  


He tried, for the umpteenth time, to fascinate himself with the article about the Pi 4. But, once again, he waded in no more than a few words before a lilting coo drew his attention.

It had been that way since Ana had waved a stick at him, cocked an eyebrow, and drawled out a laconic “Surprise guess what?”.  


  
Suddenly, there were pregnant people and little kids _everywhere_ and they were, equally suddenly, absolutely _fascinating_. 

The nearest pregnant person was the little girl’s mother, curled up, bleary-eyed and miserable, on the waiting-room couch.  


The little girl very badly want to play telephone. She dialled and listened, dialled and listened, with dogged, seemingly endless determination. With passion.  


It was made all the stranger by the fact that she had surely never used, or seen anyone use, a real version of the old rotary telephone toy. And, indeed, she probably never would, unless she grew up to be whatever a hipster would be called in 20 years, of course. For a brief moment, Newt pictured himself father of his own hipster 20 year old.

Newt badly wanted to get down on the floor and play telephone with the little girl. It is what Ana would do. Or Crowley, probably. Or Ari.  


But, Ana was a woman, and a doctor. Ari gave off some intangible aura that somehow soothed mothers, and, as for Crowley, he gave absolutely no shits if he spooked mothers or not.  


Newt, however, DID care if he spooked mothers, particularly ones that looked so overwhelmed, and so tired, and were waiting in a psychologist’s waiting-room. So, Newt contented himself by smiling at the little girl and employing the magazine he held in an impromptu game of peekaboo.

The little girl did not return his smile. She was studying him carefully, as though he was presenting her with a fascinating and completely novel treatise on the nature of reality and of peekaboo...  


...And, as if she was not entirely sure she liked it.

From nowhere, like lightening, Newt was overwhelmed with the sense that, if I the situation somehow called for it, he could scoop her up, take her home to Ana, and love her with the entirety of his being, forever.

_Fatherhood_ though... fatherhood was _tricky_.  


Fatherhood was scary and he had no idea I’d he’d be able to do it. He tried to sooth himself with the notion that he never felt like he’d be able to do anything. And yet, despite this, he usually muddled through regardless.

_Fatherhood,_ though.

An image of his own father popped into his mind as if through the crack of an opening door...

...Newt closed that door firmly and closed his magazine for emphasis.

The movement drew the attention of the woman curled on the couch. She was watching him now, warily.

Newt tried sink into his seat,to look as unthreatening as possible, and he sighed in relief when one of the inner doors opened.

“Oh Newt, my dear boy, I’m so sorry! I’m afraid I’ve run overtime and left you waiting,” Ari said, emerging from the newly opened door, his eyes slightly red, and his arms folded protectively across his chest.

As if by magic, the pregnant woman relaxed, and her eyes slid of Newt as if he was no longer there. 

Rae, Ari’s psychologist, following Ari out, smiled warmly at Newt and nodded.  


Newt found this a little remarkable as they had shared maybe three words, and a single handshake, in all the weeks Newt had been driving Ari to the office.  He smiled back at Rae, tipped an imaginary cap.

Ari forced on a smile. “Shall we...ohh!...” he said, stopping when spotted the little girl who had turned her somber attention from the plastic phone to Ari. “...Well, hello there, little one.”

The girl pursed her lips, and then held the receiver of the toy phone out to Ari, who, in turn, knelt down to within the reach of the short, curly-cord, and took the receiver gently.

“Hello?” Ari paused, as if listening. “Why my dear, it’s a message from your mummy. She says, she’s very proud of you for playing so nicely, while she isn’t feeling well.”

At once, the little girl smiled. “Big sister,” she lisped.

On the couch, her mother also smiled faintly. 

“A very important job, my dear,” Ari replied, seriously. “And one you will do marvelously.”

The little girl laughed then, as if this was all ridiculous, and turned her attention back to the toy.

“I am sorry, I’ve let you waiting, “ Ari reiterated, turning his attention back to Newt. “You are _good_ , putting up with this every week.”

“It was really no bother,” Newt replied, sincerely. “Got my magazine. Raspberry pi, you know.”

Ari blinked. “But that’s a _computer_ magazine, dear? Do they really have recipes in computer magazines?”

“Oh no, no recipes....”

“Oh, then you mean you popped out for Raspberry pie? There is a lovely bakery around the corner...”

Newt frowned, flicking through the magazine for the most illustrative photo of the Pi 4.” No, I didn’t pop out for pie, what I meant was...”

“Oh, then we must _get_ you some! You deserve a treat, dear boy, driving me around, as you do...”

Newt sighed. He remembered he’d once read a science fiction story involving a black hole. He’d been thrilled, and terrified, by the concept that, past a certain point, because the black hole warped both time and space, that the black hole was not just in the crew’s path but was also, literally, their _future_.

In a somewhat similar way, a  pastry was now, literally, Newt’s future, and he may as well devote his energy to ensuring it was a Bakewell tart.

They ate them in Crowley’s car.

Before the... _incident_...Newt had driven Crowley around in a black Range Rover. But afterward, Crowley had opted to replace it with something completely different.  


And apparently, in his boss’s mind, the opposite of a black Range Rover was a azure blue Renault Zoe.

“Ari,” Newt began, he hoped subtly, because it was still supposed to be a secret. “What do you suppose makes a good father?”

Ari chewed and swallowed for a thoughtful moment. “Oh, I shouldn’t worry, dear boy. You will be absolutely splendid!”

Newt almost choked. “You know? How do you know? She told you? She promised I could tell you!”

Ari blinked. “Tell me what?”

“That Ana’s pregnant!”

“Ana’s pregnant?! But that’s wonderful!”

Newt was crestfallen. “Oh, I wasn’t supposed to say! I’ve mucked up already, she’s going to be furious.”

Ari seemed to be attempting a sympathetic face, but couldn’t quite stop smiling. “Oh, well I just won’t say anything! I have an excellent poker face!”

“No, you don’t!” Newt replied, uncertain how Ari could even suggest as much. “Do you remember when the four of us tried to have a poker night?”

Ari considered. “I remember that the two of us ran out of chips, after about three quarters of an hour, and Crowley and Ana kept folding on each other til about one in the morning. Perhaps you are right, dear boy, lying won’t work. But, do find a way to blame me. And, on the other, front. You must stop fretting immediately. You will be utterly tremendous, I’ve no doubt at all.”

Newt smiled. “Do you really think I’ll be alright?” 

“I do, yes,” Ari replied immediately. “I think you are loving, and I think you are kind, and I think that you are very brave in both those things. And I think that gives you a better head start than most.”

“You’re really quite good at this best-mate business,” Newt replied, oddly reassured. “You can have the last tart for that.”

“I’ll take it back for Crowley” Ari replied, before growing oddly pensive. “Although I doubt I’ll get him to eat It. It’s such a struggle to get him to eat properly. Or to sleep properly. And I’m no help with the latter, to my deep regret.”

Ari looked so worried that Newt patted his shoulder, reassuringly. “It’s not you. He’s always been like that. Been driving Ana to distraction for years. But don’t worry. It’s three against one, now. We’ll keep him going.”

Ari smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh fuck!”

Crowley opened his eyes, to see Ana was leaning over him, peering.

Actually no. Not _Ana_. It was _Dr Anathema Device_ peering at him.

Crowley was not entirely sure whether he was wearing pants.

“Anthony, I am prescribing you antidepressants,” she announced. 

Crowley could see up her nostrils.He tried to think of a way to unobtrusively check on the pants situation. “But why? I’m not depressed.”

“It’s five in the afternoon and you are still in bed.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “So what? Gentleman of Leisure, me.”

“Gentlemen of Leisure brush their teeth,” Ana replied, unmoved. “Here, sample pack. Take these now.”

“But I’m not depressed,” Crowley hissed, sitting up. “I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Ana pursed her lips. “When did you last go outside?”

“Yesterday,” Crowley lied.

“You don’t look like you’ve seen much sun.”

Crowley sniffed. “Very blue-blooded, we Gentlemen of Leisure. All porcelain-like.”

“Did you eat today? “

“I had breakfast, “ Crowley lied.

“Then, what’s that?” Ana asked, pointing to the very clearly untouched, very clearly breakfast-tray, Ari had left by the bed. 

Crowley sighed. “Fine, yes. Wasn’t hungry. But you are right, I should move it before he gets back, don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

He didn’t manage to get up, though.

Ana sank down on the bed. “Please, just take the antidepressants, Anthony. And ideally, stop lying to me. But mostly? Just take the drugs, for a few weeks. It might help. And, what’s the harm? You aren’t exactly a my-body-is-a-temple type.”

“Maybe not,” Crowley grumbled. “But you cant just throw drugs at me.”

Ana reached over and picked up his phone. Her text from this morning, “go back to therapy” was still displayed on the lock screen. She waved it in his face.

“You aren’t listening!” Crowley grumbled. “I’m not depressed. I can’t be depressed. Depressed people are all numb and don’t feel things, right? Well, that’s not me. I feel fucking terrified all of the time. Numb would be a fucking holiday.”

Ana shrugged. “You are depressed. You are just ALSO really fucking traumatised. What can I say? You’re multitasking.”

“I’m not traumatised. Nothing happened to me.”

Ana sighed. “I can’t fight with you. Really? Nothing? You weren’t driving in a fatal car accident? You weren’t drugged and raped? You didn’t find Newt nearly dead?Ari and Bannerman was nothing? A gun in your face was _nothing_?” 

“Yes. Fine. That all happened. Yes. And, I was fine. I got sad, I got better. If I’m in bed, it’s because I’m a lazy, entitled piece of shit. Not because I’m _traumatised_ and certainly not cause I’m fucking depressed.”

To Crowley’s surprise, Ana lay down on the bed next to him. “I’m terrified all the time, too. I’m growing a human, and I think Newt is having a very quiet nervous breakdown about it, in his shed. And I just can’t stop expecting something to go wrong. I can’t take a piss without being terrified of seeing blood. I can’t stop picturing baby-sized coffins. And _me-sized_ coffins. Cause, it was a normal day. A totally normal day, and then you crashed into my office and suddenly, Newt almost died in my arms, and I see it! I see him suffocating behind my eyelids. I’ve forgotten how to have a totally normal day.”

Crowley exhaled, heavily. “Oh alright. Fine. I’ll take your drugs.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait.... Are you pregnant? Since when?”

“Since, none of your business,” Ana sniffed. “But like ten weeks?”

“Urgghhh! Breeders are gross.”

Ana snorted. “Fuck you very much! Can I have a nap? Your bed is unreasonably comfortable and I’m _completely_ exhausted. It’s ridiculous. It’s one, two-inch lump of baby, and my system is reacting like I’m running back-to-back marathons. Or, at least, I _hope_ it’s only one, I really ought to get a scan.”

“Then go get a scan, you demented woman,” Crowley replied, appalled. “What are you wasting your time bothering me for?”

Ana sighed. “I’d have to take Newt for a scan. What if he touched the ultrasound machine or something?”

Crowley snorted in spite of himself. “Yeah. Fair point. We’ll have to break both his arms first. Fairs fair, one each. I call left.”

“I can’t hear you. I’m napping.”

* * *

Ari had appeared deflated approaching the car, and Newt had been geared toward commiseration, right up to the very last moment, when Ari had eventually presented the brand-new, full drivers license.

“Oh well done, you!” Newt exclaimed happily. “Not that I was worried of course! And you even managed a flattering picture. You’ll have to tell me your secret for that because mine could always double as fake ID for Frankenstein’s monster.”

Ari hummed, thoughtfully.“And if anyone could use a drink, it would be _that_ poor fellow.”

“I must say you don’t seem terribly excited. Thought we’d at least get a smile out of you!”

“It just all seems so terribly _perfunctory_.I don’t feel at all qualified to pilot a tonne of metallic, lethal-weapon, down public roads unsupervised. And yet, I’m now officially permitted to do so...”

Newt chuckled. “They give them to seventeen-years-olds, you know. You are fine. Aren’t you going to text Crowley? Tell him the good news?”  


“Bother him over something that, as you say, teenagers can manage? I think not. I _am_ glad to have it, though. It didn’t matter in London, but it’s a life skill around here, I suppose. And it would save poor Crowley from white-knuckling it on his bad days. He thinks I don’t notice but...”

  
Newt frowned. “Oh very well, then. No fuss. I am proud of you, though. Gotta say that, at least.  Do you want to drive home, or...?”

“Oh I think not, dear boy. I certainly don’t feel qualified to operate vehicles containing expectant fathers.” Instead, Ari sat in the passenger seat, recounting the horrors of his driving test, for half the trip back to Tadfield. They other half was spent spending commiserating with Newt’s woeful tale of the computers repeatedly failing when he’d been trying for his theory test, once upon a time.

Newt had been intending to drop Ari, and head home, but on noticing Ana’s bicycle parked outside, he invited himself in for dinner.

Ari set the last Bakewell tart down on the counter of Crowley’s kitchen... their kitchen... the kitchen... whatever, while Newt ambled off, through the quiet cottage, in search of Ana.

“She _is_ here,” Newt said, returning to the kitchen and setting about quietly making the tea. “She’s having a nap on your boyfriend’s bed. So is he, by the way. And, he isn’t wearing pants. Is that the sort of thing I should be getting pugnaciously upset about?”

Ari smiled. “I’m not sure that I’m up for a farcical misunderstanding this evening, dear boy. But if you would like to work yourself into an presumptive rage, I shall endeavour to make a good audience.”

“Think I’ll just have tea,” Newt shrugged. “I’m not good at jealous. I was rather counting on you to do the heavy lifting drama-wise. You want a cup?”

“Of course, dear, thank you. You know, I did do a a bit of theatre, back in my school days. I wasn’t much chop, I’m afraid, but I loved it. Terribly romantic, the theatre. Perfect environment for falling in love with all the straight boys, who wouldn’t mind so much. My mother never approved, though.”

“Oh, that’s funny,” Newt replied, gently clinking a pair of tea cups as he set them out. “My mother always wanted me to try theatre. She thought it would be good for my confidence. Couldn’t bear the thought of it, though.”

Ari nodded. “We could try switching mothers. I’m sure _mine_ wouldn’t mind. You married a woman and are becoming a father, so you’d be a good step up from me.”

“Sorry, I can’t,” Newt replied. “I’m a bit fond of my mum. But if your in the market for a new one, you can probably share Ana’s mum with her. Mrs Device is enough mum for a small city.”

“I suppose Ana’s mother will be coming to visit, in not so long. To meet the baby. Perhaps she’ll adopt me then...”

“Ana’s been putting off telling her,” Newt mused.

“And telling Crowley and I, apparently...”

“It’s not personal, mate. She’s sure something will go wrong. I think... I’m probably lucky she told me.”

Ari eyed off the last Bakewell tart longingly, but held firm. “Poor, dear Ana. And, it should be such a happy time for you both.”

Newt nodded, about to say something, but the kettle whistled. “Kettle’s hot already! It’s such a fast kettle, that one. Throws off my whole tea-making rhythm.”

“It _is_ quick. I expect it is the very best kettle money can buy. Crowley chose all the appliances. Or _had them chosen,_ I suppose.”

“A fast kettle is not a bad problem to have,” Newt observed, while pouring.

“No, I suppose not,” Ari mused. “Still, the money, - _honestly Newt, there’s so much of it!_ \- it bothers me, sometimes. Do you suppose I could be a- oh what’s the expression? - a gold digger? Taking advantage, somehow?”

Hot water splashed on Newt’s fingers, and he stuck them in his mouth. “No! Of course not! Where would you get such a stupid idea?”

Ari sighed. “Oh, I went online again. Some of the kids showed me this website, called Reddit? I believe? And at first I was just looking at the ones about cats but... well, I went on a bit of a wander around and...”

“I do not think that Reddit is the place for you,” Newt said, quite apprehensively. “I mean, I’m sure that cat stuff is fine, but maybe, _don’t_ wander...?”

“Oh, perhaps you are right,” Ari acknowledged. “I did feel rather awful about myself after, and Rae didn’t like the sounds of it either... and...”

Ana burst in at that moment, wild-eyed.

“It’s not what it looks like!” she insisted.

Newt sipped his tea. “It looks like you stopped by here last, on your rounds, to drag Crowley out of bed. And he was ornery. And then, you needed a nap, because you are pregnant and you work too hard.”

“Oh... then, I guess, it _is_ what it looks like?”

“Would you like some tea? I’m willing to bet there’s herbal, if you are still afraid of caffeine?”

Ana pouted. “I’m just being SAFE, Newt.”

“There’s peppermint, if you’d like dear,” Ari put in. “Might help settle your stomach. Or rooibos?”

“I’ll stick to water,” Ana replied glumly. “Cats out of the bag now, so no need to camouflage. Just no one tell my mother yet, okay?”

* * *

  
Crowley eyed off the antidepressants, suspiciously, and continued plowing through their associated documentation.  He was supposed to be charting his mood, but that was self evident ally a lost cause. How was he supposed to reduce the cacophony of unpleasantness into a single number? He just doodled ducks on the chart instead.

He was, also, _not supposed_ to be drinking on them.

But frankly, fuck that. Bossy little buggers.

Rum and tea was absolute rubbish, though.

He drank it anyway.

Damn pills certainly came with a lot of paperwork. He surveyed a quiz. 

In the past two weeks how often have you felt restless or fidgety?

He took a drink.

In the past two weeks about how often have you felt worthless.

_Drink_.

“I don’t think that’s how that quiz works, dearest,” Ari whispered from the door frame.

“Suppose not, love,” Crowley answered softly. “You okay? Bad day at the office? Periodicals getting you down?”

“No, I just... I need to talk to you, only, how drunk are you exactly?”

“Barely started, promise. What’s up?”

Ari sat down miserably. “Sex.”

“Right. So just to clarify, should I be more drunk or less drunk for this?”

“You shouldn’t be drunk at all, because I think you should fuck me, and I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

Crowley blinked. “Wait, what?! I swear I’m not drunk, but... _what_?!”

“I haven’t been fair to you, and I need to fix it. Immediately,” Ari whispered, wringing his hands. “So would you fuck me, please?”

“Stop _saying_ that! And, slow down! You’ve clearly been having a conversation with yourself for a few hours, and I really should have been in on this from the start. So, go back to the beginning and what are you talking about? What’s not _fair_?”

“So you don’t want to?”

Actually, Crowley very much _didn’t_.Every instinct proclaimed that it would be an awful idea. Something was very clearly wrong. But, saying so felt like an awful idea too.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to...” he replied carefully.   


_Minefield. Mines everywhere._

“...I just think you should talk me through your thought process. “

Ari’s face hardened. “I know my own mind.”

“I know you do, sweetheart, I do. But please, for both our sakes, let me double check your mental work, okay? This is too important to get wrong. Now what’s happened?”

“Nothing’s... _happened_.”

“You read something? You saw something? What? Talk to me!”

“I... I read something.”

Crowley nodded. “Okay good. That’s good. That’s a start. Read what?”

“I don’t remember exactly...”

“Broad brushstrokes?”

“Um... well... sorry, this is hard.”

Crowley nodded again. “Yeah. I know it is, Angel. I know. Course it is. Please though?”

Ari took a breath. “Well, all right. I read... um... well, _accounts_ written by people, who’s partners weren’t satisfying them sexually, at all, or who wouldn’t engage in um.... _acts_... that they’d done with others, in their past. And these people were so _angry_ , Crowley, so _resentful_. I can’t bear to have you thinking about me like that. I can handle being... I can handle _sex_ , I mean, but I can’t handle you hating me. _Resenting_ me.”

In his mind eye, Crowley saw himself getting angry. Losing himself to frustration. Shouting, throwing things. Saw in his head, clear as day, Ari cringe, as a tea cup full of rum and tea broke next to his head. Saw his own lips curling around the most hurtful cruelties his mind could craft.

It felt so _possible_ , separated from them by only a thin film of willpower.

“Oh, my love, no,” he said, hoarsely. “That’s not the way there. If we go there, we go there because it’s what you _want_ , not what you think you can _bear_. I don’t reject you, I don’t reject your love, or the intimacy we have now. But, I categorically reject the idea of hurting you that way. And that’s what this would be. I’d be just another razor you’ve taken to yourself.”

Ari began to cry softly. “It won’t be enough. I won’t be enough.”

“You are. Please, Angel. Just... stay off the internet, okay? You won’t find out how I feel about you there. Maybe talk to Rae about this? We can talk about it again later, but talk to Rae first. If you are right, and you somehow owe me more, then you’ll be able to convince him, and then he’ll be able to convince me.”

“What if he says that I should give up? That I’ll never be able to have a real relationship?”

“He won’t! And we _are_ real, thank you very much.”

“You deserve more.”

“I don’t.

“You deserve _simple_!”

“I’M not simple, why should I get simple? And honestly. You are the best person I’ve ever met. I’m punching way above my weight, in the luck department.”

“You don’t think I’m a ‘gold digger’?

“Stay OFF THE INTERNET. Actually, give me your phone.”

Ari handed it over. “Well, I guess it is _your_ phone. You bought it. Everything is yours, really.”

Crowley hissed quietly, but didn’t answer. Instead, he manipulated the phone for a little bit. “Here. Here you go! Look, cute little cows with flowers and bows! Now, instead of going on the internet and reading about how strangers hate each other, instead, open this! Match three little cows together! Win virtual daisies!”

“Why?”

“To save my sanity! Here try it. Match the cows!”

Ari experimentally switched two cows from one pen to another. Once aligned, the three matching cows gambled off to a meadow and new cows appeared. “It is cute... I’m still not sure _why_ I should....”

“Because that game is a three hundred percent better use of your time than those awful message boards!” 

“But, this is very obviously pointless!”

“Exactly! It’s mind-numbing, very faintly addictive, and it isn’t going to make you hate yourself enough to sacrifice yourself on the altar of my imaginary resentment! Talk to Rae! match the cows! Stay off the internet!”

Ari was silent for a long time. And then, “Oh, it appears there’s a level 2!”

* * *

B did not leave voicemail messages for anyone. It was far beyond her default level of benevolence.

“Michael. I do not care how bad your hangover is, when I call, you answer. Now, I’m getting your arse into rehab, whether you like it or not. So, you pick up when I call you tomorrow, or I’m hiring a pair of goons to drag you there by the ankles.”

There.

  
But if she didn’t answer tomorrow the kid gloves were coming off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone!
> 
> I’m surprised and touched that there is such interest in a sequel and it’s so lovely to read all of your comment, they really mean the world to me.


	3. Chapter 3

“Oy, Michael. Up.”

Michael really could have sworn she changed her locks. “Didn’t I change my locks?”

“Yeah, you did!” B relied, coolly. “Thanks for that, by the way. Cause I’m not at all busy, and have no end of time to muck around with locksmiths. I’ve spent half my morning on this already. Knew I should have hired goons. Now, get in the shower. I know how to pack for you. Still all about slacks, sport bras, and granny pants?”

“I’m not going to rehab. I don’t need rehab. Nothing to pack for.”

B raised an eyebrow. “Well, can’t say I give a flying fuck if you lose your job. To the extent that I still care about you, I’d prefer you didn’t investigate _The Filth_ for a living. But, presuming you still like what you do, you should get ahead of this.”

Michael rubbed her eyes with the heals of her hands. “Nothing to get ahead of. Not a drunk, am I?”

B was unimpressed.“That sounds like a philosophical question. Don’t do philosophy. I just count the bottles in your recycling, plus the bottles in your sink. And, they add up to hammered.”

B’s phone began to buzz - they curled their lip before sending it to voicemail. “I’m missing things, Michael. I don’t like _missing_ things. So, no more messing about. Your father died pickle-livered and bright yellow, and that’s the road you are on. I ain’t leaving until you get in the car with me, and, as you should well know, there is no upper ceiling on my ability to be irritating”.

Michael considered. Rehab...? Maybe....?

She picked up her phone and dialled the local police precinct. “Hello. This is DCI Michael Kemp. I’m not in any danger but I need help evicting an unwanted visitor from my flat. Can you sent someone along in a bit?”

B raised an eyebrow.

Michael gave her address.

B sat down on the single chair by Michaels dining table.

“Not going to leave before The Filth arrive?” Michael said with a little more venom than intended.

“Nah, gonna wait for ‘em” B shrugged, their mouth curling into what might pass for a smile. “I right fancy a snack.”

* * *

“So, sex.”

Ari sighed. “Must we?”

Rae shrugged. He was a large man, bald with salt and pepper beard, and a seemingly endless collection of vintage Hendrix t-shirts which he wore with grey cardigans and beards.

“Your email said that you wanted to talk about it, and that you probably try to wave the subject off, and that I shouldn’t let you. I _will_ let you, but I figured I should probably at least remind you that you asked me not to.”

“I remember,” Ari sighed. “Very well. Yes. Fine.”

A very long pause followed. 

“Did you want me to start?” Rae asked eventually, his overgrown, unkempt eyebrows sloping up in the middle.

An even longer pause.

“Okay,” Rae relented. “Let’s start here. Do you enjoy sex?”

Ari sighed, exasperated. “What sort of question is that?”

“Conversation starter?”

“Well...um... yes. I think. In theory.”

Rae wrote something down, then looked up. “But not in practice.”

“At times.”

Rae’s frown deepened and his pencil moved over the unpleasantly yellow lecture pad. “Which times?”

“ _I don’t know_. You seem to be writing more things than normal.”

Rae pauses. “I might be. I’m sorry if that bothers you. I do have concerns.”

“Concerns about me?”

“I think, I’d prefer to say, I have concerns _FOR_ you.”

“It’s my understanding that reclaiming a healthy, rewarding sex life can be empowering. _Healing, e_ ven. Shouldn’t you be in favour or that?”

Rae frowned. “Tricky word, there. _Reclaiming_. Do you think you’ve ever had a healthy, rewarding sex life?”

“Oh, for goodness sake!”

“You sound frustrated.”

Ari exhaled heavily. He _was_ frustrated. This conversation wasn’t flowing properly at all. “I feel like we have gotten rather to focused on me.”

Rae snorted. “Therapy can be that way. Try this one. Why do you want to have sex?”

“Because I love my boyfriend,” Ari replied, throwing up his hands. 

“You want to have sex with your boyfriend.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what people do.”

“And?”

Ari sighed. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m trying to do the right thing here, I don’t understand why everyone is so against that.”

“The right thing for who?”

“It really feels like you are being annoying on purpose.”

Rae nodded. “I’m sorry. Therapy can be that way too. I want you to know _why_ you are doing this, Ari. I want it to be the right thing for you, at the right time. And, from what you’ve told me, I think Anthony wants that too. Is he still seeing his psychologist, by the way?”

“No. He stopped going. He got to the end of some program. Some thing with eye movements? Which he hated, but finished. And then, he just stopped going. Said he was fine. Insisted he was fine. He can be hard to argue with.”

“Do you think he listens to you?” Rae asked, still scribbling away.

“Yes, of course. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant...he’s good at _seeming_ fine, until he isn’t. So, if I’m not paying attention... I mean, I _try_ to pay attention all the time, but all the time is... a lot. Anyway, you’ve sidetracked me. Can we get back to the question at hand?”

Rae nodded, maddeningly. “Certainly. What is the question at hand, though,in your mind?”

“Very well. If you insist that I be lewd, how about this? How do I get to the point where Anthony can have anal sex with me, and I don’t freak out enough that he notices and gets upset?”

Rae didn’t reply immediately.

Ari folded his arms. “I suppose that’s the wrong question, is it?”

Rae put down his pencil. “I am very concerned about that as a goal.”

“Why? It’s _fine_. I don’t need to... it’s fine. I’m not broken. I’m not a deflowered virgin. I can handle it! I can! It’s not even as if this is the first time I’ve had to... I can handle it.”

“Should you _have_ to...?”

When Ari didn’t answer, Rae continued.

“...I’d like to put a few things to you, Ari. Your understanding of what it means to be a gay man in a relationship has been coloured by the influence of firstly, your mother, who you yourself acknowledge is highly homophobic, and secondly, by Elijah. Try to remember how young you were. How without the approval of your older boyfriend you would have been literally homeless. How that older boyfriend turned out to be, as you yourself acknowledge, horrendously abusive...

“... Now, I could quote you statistics that demonstrate that anal sex is not universally expected or necessary, particularly in monogamous relationships - and it isn’t- but it actually doesn’t matter. You don’t have to. I believe that you can, one day, if you want to, bit first I would really like you to come to terms with the idea that you don’t have to.”

Ari answered in a whisper. “I have to be realistic. I’m not certain that I’ve anything else to offer.”

“I can’t agree with you about that,” Rae replied, “And I strongly encourage you to spend some time exploring different kinds of sex. And get used to your pleasure being, at the very least, of equal importance. Because I think it’s possible that you’ve never actually really had that.”

Ari shook his head. “I can’t just go home and demand sexual encounters that revolve around me.”

“Perhaps not _demand_. But, you can _ask_. And I think, at least generally speaking, a good partner would be willing to negotiate that with you. Particularly given the totality of circumstances. I mean, wouldn’t you?”

“Wouldn’t I what?”

“If you had a partner with your background you would want to help them? Treat them kindly? Help them find themselves? Why not give Anthony that chance?”

Abruptly, Ari found himself very flustered, and in tears. 

“What’s upsetting you at the moment?” Rae prompted.

“I don’t know,” Ari whispered hoarsely. “I don’t know.”

* * *

“You called me back!” Dana drawled,  sounding surprised. “What’s _that_ about? You don’t call people back.”

B ground her teeth. “I’m...sorry I didn’t pick up your call, Dana. I was busy with a... thing.”

“Your office didn’t know about any ‘ _thing_ ’”

“It was a... personal thing,” B replied, striving to sound less irritated than she was. Sounding _completely_ unirritated was out of the question, anyway. “Involving a friend.”

Dana snorted. “Come off it, B. You don’t have friends. You have a concentric circle Venn diagram of colleagues, enemies, and ex-lovers.”

“You just call me to yank my chain, Dana? This is why I don’t call people back...”

“No! There’s a thing. I think we’ve got a _Tadfield_ problem.”

B’s first thought went to Michael, and that fact irritated her no end. “Yeah?”

“Think Enoch Cryer has been stirring some shit. Real press hasn’t touched it, yet, but there’s shit on the socials. Conspiracy-minded shit. _Velvet mafia stomping all over our heroes in blue with their rainbow jackboots_ type shit.”

B rolled her eyes. “Shows what they know. I haven’t worn rainbow jack-boots since the 90’s.Seriously though, what do you need me for, Dana? You know how to handle this. Get a judge or a lord or a NGO to make a fuss about jigsaw identification. Threaten prosecution. That’ll send the vermin running.”

“I’ve got mixed feelings,” Dana replied cautiously. “Not about swatting social vermin, just about... If we make this a thing, it might well get back into the real press. You know how they jizz for this culture-war shit.”

“Yeah, and? Crowley knows how to foxtrot with the press...”

“Sure _your_ guy can,” Dana replied. “But _my_ guy? Not so sure my guy can dance. Not sure he’s doing so great.”

B thought of Michael squinting, even in low light, bile on her shirt and in her hair. “Yeah. Some of that going around. Alright, yeah, Dana. Watch and wait. But WATCH, mind. Don’t like surprises.”

* * *

  
Crowley looked up from his phone as Ari walked in. “Hi Angel! How was therapy? What did you talk about?... I mean, if you want to tell me. Don’t have to, if you don’t want.”

”Oh, nothing really, dear. The usual.”

”You look like something’s bothering you...?” Crowley pressed.

Ari’s stomach clenched, but he pressed forward gently. “My dear, are we monogamous?”

Crowley blinked. “Sorry? What are you asking me? I mean... yes. I know we never talked about it, but I thought it was implied. You do trust me, don’t you?”

”Oh, yes, my dear, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant,” Ari replied, hurriedly. “I meant, well, that maybe that could be a solution. To the problem of your sex life.”

”I don’t HAVE a problem with my sex life! Are you testing me? Is this a test? I know I have something of a reputation but...”

”Oh dear, oh I’m sorry. This conversation isn’t going right at all, what I meant was...”

  
“That you don’t care if I fuck other people?”

Ari cringed at the venomous tone but kept going. “No, it’s not that I don’t care, I probably would, actually...”

“Oh do you _think_?”

“...But I can’t go around ruling out potential solutions without...”

Crowley rose to his feet, fingernails biting his scalp. “There is no solution, because there is no problem! I mean, honestly! Don’t we have enough to deal with, without you inventing new ones and fixating on... just, never mind. I don’t want to end up saying something I’ll regret.”

Abruptly he turned, and left the kitchen. No door slammed, but the silence itself was...

”I’m sorry,” Ari whispered into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone. Thank you for the comments.  
> I just wanted to quickly clarify that less positive comments ARE welcome. I had one last time, which I noted was subsequently deleted (not by me!)
> 
> I would just like to ask everyone to remember that these are tough and personal topics. In my case I signed up for this, but it may be personal for other readers as well.
> 
> So just to clarify, criticism is okay by me, but please ensure that any comments are not harmful to trauma survivors generally. The deleted comment was NOT harmful to survivors generally, rather supportive of them, and thus was fine, and could have stayed from my POV.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a content advisory that firstly, things get just a little more sexually explicit here, and this includes some internalised body shaming, secondly a reference to a controversial aspect of the dairy industry and thirdly, there is a very brief and non specific allusion to child abuse.

When Crowley came back to the kitchen to apologise, Ari wasn’t there. He searched the house, twice, his panic rising - _flooding him_ \- before he cracked, and texted Newt.

Newt replied, quickly.

Did you try the barn?

_Stupid, know-it-all-Pulsifer. Of course, the barn._

Crowley covered the distance a little too quickly, the burn scars on his legs chafing against the material on his pants, threatening him that he’d regret his haste.

_Fuck that._

  
He’d regret it, if he didn’t hurry. If he got to the barn, and...

And...

And Ari was fine. He was in the barn, stroking Selene’s nose, over the not-closed half-gate to her preferred stall. The cow was snorting softly, pushing her snout into his chest.

Crowley’s breathless entry to the barn disturbed Zaira, grown now to almost the size of her mother, and she ambled over to him for a head scratch.

Selene stayed where she was.

_The kids are choosing sides_ , Crowley thought, as he scratched Zaira’s head obligingly, while doubled over to get enough air. _And Zaira’s chosen wrong._

Ari caught sight of him now, and his eyes began to fill with a tearful apology.

Crowley shook his head. “No! Me first. Just give me a minute,” he panted. “Bloody hell, where did all the oxygen go? Did we give it away in Brexit? Just, just a sec...” 

Ari frowned, thoughtfully. “My dear, have you possibly started smoking again?”

“No... well, yes. Sort of. Not the point. Just.... just listen. Ari, I’m sorry. I should never have snapped at you, and _that_ in particular? It’s killing me that I accused you of not trusting me... I just... one second...”

He let out an enormous, and profoundly unattractive cough, and all but doubled over again.

_Stupid cigarettes. Stupid willpower._

Ari hurried over him in alarm, and began stroking his back gently. 

The action made Crowley’s eyes start to sting, but he bit down hard on the impulse to cry. Not least because he was an ugly, red, _snotty_ crier, and the last thing his lungs needed, right now, were more secretions to deal with.

After another bout of coughing, Brussels must have sent back some oxygen, because he started to feel better, and slowly pulled himself straighter.

Ari continued to rub his back gently. “Anthony, I...”

“Nope. Not yet, Angel. Still my turn. Unexpected lung failures, not withstanding. It _KILLS_ me, that I accused you of not trusting me. If I’d been through half the things you have, I’d have bought myself a lighthouse, on a private island, and never gone near other humans again. I’m _IN AWE_ of how much you trust me. And, it’s certainly more than anyone else ever has. I was so profoundly _unfair_.”

Ari sighed softly. “It’s... it’s not your fault. I don’t _try_ to be annoying, but I think I rather might be.”

“No, Angel, don’t say that,” Crowley whispered back. “You aren’t annoying. I... I’m not angry with you, I’m angry _for_ you, but I am _angry_. And, I’ve been worried about losing my temper, and I did, and it’s not okay. Could have been worse, I’ve pictured worse, but it’s not _okay_.”

Ari folded his arms across his chest. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did. And, you don’t deserve it. I want more for you, than that. And I want more, from myself, than that. I’m... I’ll go back to therapy, okay? I’ll deal with the anger. This isn’t going to keep happening, it’s not going to get worse. I won’t let it. It’s important to me that you feel _safe_ with me.”

Ari’s eyes narrowed in confusion, “I do feel safe with you.” His arms stayed folded across his chest.

Crowley nodded sadly, leant down, and kissed him on the forehead. “It’s okay. We’ll work on it. And, I’m sorry. Did I actually remember to say I was sorry at the head of this thing? I’m sensitive about being called promiscuous. It’s partly a bisexual thing, and it’s partly a tabloidy ‘Anthony Crowley fucks everything that moves thing’. But, I know you didn’t mean it either of those ways.”

“You _did_ say sorry,” Ari replied, his arms falling to his side, hitching and then carefully reaching for Crowley’s waist. “And, I’m sorry I poked you in a sore spot...”

Crowley completed the hug. “Hey, s’okay. Can I ask you something, though? Did you talk to Rae? It’s okay if you didn’t, but, if you did, and his only suggestion was ‘maybe open the relationship’, then, maybe we should re-evaluate. You don’t need to stick with the first therapist we try. You can try every one in England, if you like. Scotland. Wales. Ireland. Japan....”

“I LIKE Rae,” Ari answered softly. “And, even if I didn’t, I don’t think I can start over with a new person. There’s so much I’d have to do all over again... and, to be fair, Rae mentioned monogamy, but he didn’t suggest changing it. What he actually suggested was that, for the time being, we negotiate a mutually pleasant list of erotic activities that doesn’t push either of our boundaries.”

Crowley smiled. “I think I much prefer that plan. Can I start? I would like to hug you, on days when you feel like hugging...”

Ari frowned. “Is hugging _erotic_?”

“No kink-shaming, Angel! And, I would like to kiss you, when you feel like kissing. Snuggle up to you, to sleep, on nights when you feel like snuggling. Whisper how beautiful you are into the crook of your neck and your collarbone. And, completely optional this one, no pressure at all, I would like to watch you pleasure yourself.”

Ari baulked. “Why on Earth would you want to watch _that_?” 

“Well, on one hand, it’s a way for me to learn how you like to be touched, while you stay completely in control. And, on the other- no kink-shaming!- erotic as hell. Also, happy to return the favour if you are interested.”

“I can see how watching you would be... pleasant... but that’s because you are so... so _gorgeous_. Like a painting. All beautiful lines.I’d look fat, and red, and sweaty...”

“Nope!” Crowley interrupted with a ever so gently predatory smile. “You’re gorgeous. You’re Bronzino’s St Sebastian or Parmigianino’s Eros, working his bow. No, better, your Rubens copy of Parmigianino’s Eros, working his bow.”

Ari sighed. “My dear! You are being entirely too flattering. You’ll swell my head.”

“Told you this was sexy,” Crowley replied wrinkling his nose.

Ari’s eyes widened. “Oh, honestly. There are ladies present!” 

Crowley looked from Zaira to Selene. “You might have a point about Zaira. But Selene’s a mum. She must have gotten some action.”

“She was a dairy cow. Doubt she had much say in the matter, really...” Ari replied, trailing off sadly. 

Crowley pulled him back into the hug. “Yeah. Maybe not. But she does now.”

* * *

Newt deposited Ana in a cafe chair, and watched her carefully. He’d been hopeful that this scan would relax Ana about the pregnancy. No such luck.

He realised he was squashing the little thermal image picture in his hand, so he placed in on the table and smoothed it out carefully.

Ana glanced down at it and then quickly looked away with a little moan that chilled Newt’s heart.

“So, this is has been quite a morning,” he began carefully. “Twins.”

“MCMA Twins,” Ana replied, listlessly.

“It’s strange how they called it _Twins-on-hard-mode_. Who would have thought twins had a hard mode?”

Ana didn’t react.

“I know you’re disappointed about stopping work earlier, and the weeks in hospital, and a NICU stay, but you’ll find a locum. We will manage.”

Ana still didn’t react.

“And, definitely identical twins, they said, with the MCMA thing. So, we’ll need a plan for that. Cause you remember, Ana? You remember how they said that outcomes are better now, that it’s not as bad as you first thought? That there’s a very good chance that...”

Newt found he wasn’t quite up for the rest of that sentence.

“Earlier birth, too,” he pressed on. “Have to get organized. September, at the latest. Pair of Libras instead of one Scorpio. I suppose we use coloured socks or something. And, we’ll make sure we have some help, for when they are ready to come home. Your mother... or my mother.”

Ana frowned. “Not _your_ mother. “

Newt paused for a moment. “I am absolutely fine with your mother staying as long as you need,” he began, cautiously. “But, it can’t _hurt_ to have some extra help, or at least the option of it if...”

Ana shook her head. “No, no. I’m not having it. Having that woman around my children when they are so sick and vulnerable...”

Newt took another moment to breath in and out before answering. _Carefully_. “I _love_ her Ana...She was a good mother to me Ana...”

“No, she wasn’t!” Ana snapped. “She stayed for YEARS. She trapped you in that nightmare household, for years. She’s not fit to care for children.”

Newts stomach clenched. “It’s not that simple, Ana. And you aren’t that heartless. I _know_ you aren’t. You know _better_. She didn’t know how to leave, what to do. She thought she deserved it...”

“Did she think _YOU_ deserved it?” Ana snapped.

Newt closed his eyes. “She did what she could, Ana. But look... we can discuss this later, when we’ve... had a chance to digest things. We’ll call your mum... find out when she can come, how long she can stay.”

The fire went out of Ana’s eyes. Slowly, she nodded. “I’ll call my mom when we get home. I just need an hour or so, to get my head on straight, and it’s still very early there. But, I know she’ll come. And, there’s always Crowley, and Ari...”

“So Ari’s good enough to look after our kids?” Newt replied, the words falling out of his mouth without warning. “Cause he stayed for nearly two decades.”

Ana looked at the ground. “No kids,” she said flatly. “It’s _different_.”

Without replying, Newt got up from the table, went inside to the counter, and ordered Ana a mineral water and himself some tea.

It seemed for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay well everyone. Be kind to yourselves.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory for discussion of illegal drug consumption, police, assault and arrest.

Michael woke up disoriented. The wall was in the wrong place. Then she remembered.

_Rehab_.

How the fuck had she been talked into this? B was a witch, or something.

She was not ready to deal with _this_ shit, so there was really nothing for it, but to go back to sleep for a while.

The next time she woke, it was because a sunny, ruddy-cheeked woman in shrubs was gently shaking her by the shoulder.

“Up ya get, love,” the woman chirped. “Else you’ll miss breakfast.”

Michael groaned at the thought of food. “No, thank you.”

“Consumption of healthy meals is _expected_ ,” the nurse kept chirped, cheerfully. “Failure to participate in meals will be recorded and reported to your medical team!”

Michael pressed a pillow into her face. Clearly, this woman was Zombie-Orwell’s wet dream. “Alright, yes fine. I’m coming. Just let me get dressed, yeah?”

“Breakfast ends in thirty minutes,” the nurse chirped.

Michael sighed. Balance of probabilities, this nurse was a normal person, who swore under her breath when she got paper cuts or stubbed her toes, and lived in a slightly over-decorated home, which smelt slightly like cat pee. All that said, her impression of a perversely jolly pod-person who lived in the institutions attic was bang on.

Michael pawed through the bag B had packed for something to wear to breakfast. The bag had been pawed over already on admission, Michael remembered. Searched for drugs and alcohol, but, in such an _inadequate_ way that it had left Michael’s policewoman’s heart feeling vaguely insulted. These bitches couldn’t search for shit.

B had followed through on her threat, and mostly packed slacks and sports bras for Michael. The bras could go to hell. If she had to do fucking rehab, no way was she doing it in a fucking bra. 

She slunk to breakfast in the least formal pair of slacks and the largest t-shirt available to her. 

The toast, apparently, had to be preordered the previous day, and of course, she hadn’t been in here then. She stole someone else’s, grabbed a banana, and sat halfway down one side of an empty table.

She didn’t look up when a man slid into the chair opposite her.

“You’re new,” he said. “ _New_ new. Never seen you before. First time?”

Michael considered ignoring him, but who the hell knew how that would go down. “Yes,” she said. “I’m knew. First time. Rehab newb.”

The man, skinny and twitchy, started nodding, and continued nodding as if he’d forgotten how to stop. “Cool, cool. Just so you know. You ever need something in here to take the edge off, I’m your guy.”

Michael glanced up, “You came over here to tell me that your the guy who can get me booze in rehab? What? You saw that in a movie?”

But the man shook his head. “Nah, dolly bird. Sneaking in booze is too much of a pain in the ass. All literally even. I don’t bottle no bottles. Pills! I’m your main man for pills!”

Michael sighed. “Seems only fair to tell you that I’m a policewoman. Which might, or might not, make it lucky I didn’t hear what you just said. Couldn’t say, cause I didn’t hear it.”

To her surprise though the man smiled. “Oh that don’t matter, dolly bird. We is all lads in here, eh? You change your mind? You want something? You come find me yeah? East 17.”

Michael peeled her banana and ate it, with pointed aggression, until he went away.

* * *

Newt gently placed the sandwich down next to Ana. She had been starting at the computer for hours, typing dozens of search terms into PUBMED, recording lists of journal articles, crawling through the reference lists of those articles which were open access, reaching out through researchgate to the authors of the ones behind paywalls, and cross referencing it all against a printed copy of RCOG guidelines, now more covered in her own spidery scrawl than in actual printed words.

“Take a break,” he said softly. “Eat something. Ipromise that none of those journal articles recommend that expectant mothers research obsessively and fail to eat.”

Ana looked at the sandwich. Newt settled down in a chair. He’d asked, he’d made her favourite, that was all he could to.

“My mother has applied for a sabbatical starting September. She’ll let us know. I mean she said she’d come regardless, but, it would be better if...” 

“Of course,” Newt replied, soothingly. “Have a bite, Ana. Do you want some water? I’ll get you a glass...”

Ana shook her head. “No thanks. I’m spending half my life in the toilet anyway.”

“Ana. Do you think we could... just take a break from disaster prep, just for an hour or two? Try to be happy about this? Call some people? Make a fuss? Go buy something silly, like... I don’t know... rattles? I’d like... I’d like to try feeling happy about this. Just for a bit. Isn’t it worth a try? We might like it?”

Ana pressed her lips together and gave a tiny shake of her head. “I know it’s stupid, but it feels like bad luck. And it feels like, if I let myself feel happy, it will feel even worse when... if something goes wrong.”

Newt carefully snuck his hand into hers. “I don’t think it’s _actually_ bad luck. I don’t think that letting ourselves feel happy, letting ourselves feel love, how can that possibly be bad? And... and if something goes wrong, would we really feel worse? Maybe it would be nice, even then, to have made some positive memories. To have... _something_? I just can’t see how that’s actually bad.”

“I just _can’t_ Newt,” Ana replied, almost in tears. “I can’t explain it. I know it makes no sense, but I just... can’t.”

Newt gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Okay, sweetheart. That’s okay. Just think about it. Sit with the idea for a few days. Could you maybe try to relax, though? Instead of fussing over all these articles? I’ll... I’ll organize this, okay? I’ll put Ari on it... he’s a librarian. I’m sure he’ll know how to scare up copies of all these. You can sit on the lounge. Put your feet up? Watch a movie?”

Ana blinked, all her weariness showing on her face. “You promise, you’ll get those for me, if I do?”

Newt smiled. “Of course. Now up you get. Take your sandwich.”

* * *

Ari was fielding Newt’s phone-call, while attempting to mime the concept of twins to Crowley, with _very_ limited success.

Of course, it was equally possible that Crowley had understood immediately, and was just toying with him.

Crowley’s face was all innocent confusion. “Two what’s? Two newspapers? Two waistcoats? Why are you standing that way?”

Ari rolled his eyes. “Excuse me a moment, dear boy,” he said to Newt, on the phone. “My attempts to immediately betray your secret are being stymied by a buffoon... TWINS, Crowley! For heaven’s sake... Now, what were you saying, Newt?”

“Oh, _twins_!” Crowley said, slightly too loudly, slightly too close to his ear. “Lucky you told me. I was miles off...”

“Hush! Go on, Newt dear?”

“...Ask him about the baby parties!” Crowley continued, ever-so-slightly louder. “I know that there are baby parties, but I forget what they are. Is there one for twins? You like cut open a cake, and inside there are... two cakes or something?”

Ari swatted him away. “No, it shouldn’t be to difficult, dear boy.Bodelian in Oxford will serve the medical school, so they are bound to have subscription to most medical journals.I could make enquiries about Ana’s professional access through the Oxford NHS trust, or we could just buy them outright, but I suspect it will be faster and cheaper to just bribe some likely student to give us access... ah, I see, definitely propose bribing a student then, if poor Ana is so upset, let’s set her mind at rest. No, I’ll do it, you stay with her. I’ll drive up there, presently....”

Ari finished the phone call, while Crowley pouted.“Duty calls, does it?”

“Yes, my dear, I’m sorry. Poor Ana is in something of a state. Apparently, twins come in different types and we have one of the trickier kinds on our hands...”

Crowley looked alarmed. “Nothing _bad_ though? There’s nothing _wrong_?”

“I gather, it’s just, tricky? High maintenance. The type of thing where one is glad one lives now, rather than one hundred years ago...”

Crowley sighed. “Well, fair enough. I’ll entertain myself for the afternoon, then. Where did I put all my porn and cocaine? Unless you want me to come, of course?”

“You would be bored out of your mind, dear,” Ari replied. “Which wouldn’t bother me, but you get ornery when you are bored, and you might spook the students.”

“Right,” Crowley nodded, sidling a little closer. “I forgot you were heading to town to corrupt the flower of British youth. Here, take cash...”

Ari blinked at the money. “Crowley, this is eight hundred pound! I doubt I’ll need anything like this. They are students!”

“Don’t have any skunk on me. Or pot noodles.”

“My dear, you are impossible.” Ari sighed, unthinkingly pocketed the cash. “Do you want me to bring you back anything?”

Crowley cocked an eyebrow. “Do I want anything from a medical library? Sure! Bring me back all the latest research on depravity and sex addiction.”

Ari sighed. “I meant from Oxford, generally. But, just for that, you don’t get anything and I’ve half a mind to give you quite a tongue lashing when I get back...”

“Now, don’t _tease_ ,” Crowley purred.

Ari made an exit before things got any worse.

He’d been much more worried about the whole ‘bribing a student’ business than he’d let on, which made the already nerve-wracking task of driving rather worse. But, in the end, it proved easy. He ended up approaching a young woman with rainbow-coloured hair, teal Doc Martens boots, and kind eyes, and secured her cooperation with nothing more than the truth.

“Why should Elsevier make money selling this stuff?” she grumbled, as she methodologically downloaded, the thirty or so articles Ana was missing onto a flash drive. “They don’t don’t pay the doctors who write them, you know. Or the people’s who’s birth journeys they are commercializing. _This_ is capitalism selling our own stories back to us.”

She wouldn’t take a cent of the money Ari offered, and eventually they settled on his promise to make a donation to the Albert Kennedy Trust, and a spirited conversation about what Marx would make of the internet.

Ari made his way back to the car, flash disk safely in his pocket, feeling quite positive about the whole caper. About being able to help Ana and Newt, and about handling it all more or less on his own.

“Good afternoon, sir.” The voice came from behind him just as he was reaching for the handle of the car.

It was a pair of police officers.

“Oh, good afternoon,” Ari replied, automatically taking a step back to speak to the man who had spoken to him.  


Once he had, however, the other officer stepped closer to the car door, so that it would no longer be possible for Ari to open the door without slamming into the officer.  


A small stone began to form in Ari’s chest.

“You look rather _old_ to be a student, sir” the first officer said. “What was your business here today?”

It occurred to Ari to object that there must be plenty of students approximately his age, and plenty of other library users and visitors, at that. Talking back didn’t seem wise though, and his chest was growing tighter.

“I... I came to use the library,” Ari replied, hearing his own voice was high and tight, almost whining. “Doing some independent research. I’m a librarian. Not a librarian HERE, but...”

The officer smiled. It was a predatory smile. It was very like _Elijah’s_ smile. _Gabriel’s_ smile. Ari was very sure his composure was cracking.

“You seem VERY nervous today, sir,” the officer said, taking a step forward.

Ari made a complementary, shuffling step backwards. 

“In fact, I would say that your behaviour is highly evasive. Like you have something to hide. And your explanation for being on campus today sounds... rehearsed. Would it surprise you to learn, sir, that we’ve had trouble with people selling drugs, stimulants and that, to students on campus. Do you know anything about that sir?”

Ari swallowed, his mouth was stupidly dry and his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. “I can’t say that I do, I’m sorry. I’m sure I didn’t see anything suspicious...”

The officers shared a smiling glance between them. It was somehow also horribly _familiar_.

The first officer stepped forward and around Ari, backing him up against the rear door of his own car. 

“Sir, I’m now detaining you in order to complete a search of your person for illegal drugs. I’m empowered to do so under section 23 of the Misuse of Drugs Act. Should you like a copy of the record of this search, you must request one within three months of today. Do you understand, sir?”

Ari clicked his tongue. He couldn’t seem to collect himself enough to think. “I... um... this is a mistake, I think.”

The officer, still smiling stepped forward, grabbed his wrist, spun him around and pushed him against the car. 

Ari’s grasp on what was happening seemed to slip again. He couldn’t quite connect what was happening with any sort of reality. Something was pounding in his ears, and the warm afternoon was suddenly unnaturally bright.

_ Hands. _

_ There were hands on him. _

_ He couldn’t... _

“Please stop,” he might have said. He wasn’t sure, even in the moment. 

Then, they found Crowley’s cash.

“Oh, what’s this then?” the officer said, still smiling. 

Ari couldn’t seem to bring himself to answer. It was possible he _would_ be able to talk, if he really tried, but... he wasn’t sure. In a way, it didn’t seem very important. His head- pounding, ear-thudding, air-rushing, over-bright world didn’t really seem connected to anything being said to him. He wasn’t sure if he could move, but he suspected he could not, and was overwhelmed by even the image of trying. 

The physical presence, though...

...the hands, the smell, the breath on his neck, phantom tendrils of pain uncurled through this body, and the hand of a ghost gripped a handful of his hair.

“I am arresting you on suspicion of the possession and sale of illicit drugs. you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence...”

_Those_ words didn’t really change anything. They barely registered.

  
But the _next_ words, whispered into his ear, did

“...Oh,and Enoch Cryer says hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am late replying to comments. I am really sorry. A thing happened. I am reading them, and they are cheering me up enormously, and I do intend to get them.


	6. Chapter 6

Newt got Crowley’s call at ten in the evening. It was clear from Crowley voice, that he was terrified, but pretending not to be...that he was trying to sound casual, aloof, certain that everything was fine, but just checking. 

  
Just in case.

Telling Crowley that Ari wasn’t there- hadn’t _been_ there- was bad.  


Worse for Newt has remembering how, all afternoon, he himself had been vaguely annoyed with Ari. Annoyed that he hadn’t dropping off the articles, on his way home. Made it so Newt had lied to Ana. It hadn’t occurred to Newt for a moment that Ari hadn’t made it home.

Waking Ana was worse, still. He almost let her sleep, but if they were going to be calling hospitals and things, well, she’s just _better_ at it. Knew the things to say, the people to ask. The secret language of those places.

  
  
For a brief sleepy moment, she had smiled at him. Raised her hand to his cheek. Almost the old Ana. Almost _happy_.

Then, Newt had had to terrify her, all over again.

“Go over there,” Ana muttered, as she began to dial, tensely.

Newt was reluctant to leave her, but he went. 

His phone lit up again and again as Ana texted through every negative result as she came by it.

Crowley opened his door, pale and hollow-eyed, visibly within whistling distance of a nervous breakdown.

News took two hundred and fifty agonizing minutes to come by.

  
“Ana?” Newt answered his own phone, automatically, even as he failed to recognise the caller ID.

A dry voice answered. “ _No. My name is B. I’m Crowley’s lawyer. Don’t hand over the phone or say my name, I dialled you, instead of him, on purpose. I’m betting that, if the Tadfield Care Bear Squad even has a Calm-in-a-Crisis Bear, then that bear is you. You following me_?”

“Not remotely,” Newt replied, aware Crowley was watching him wide eyed and still, as if frozen in headlights.

“ _Fantastic_ ,” B replied. “ _You people are always a joy. Pull yourself together, Pulsifer, and listen. This call is like 80% good news, and only, like, 20% disaster, yeah? Ready_?”

“I doubt it,” Newt answered, truthfully.

B sighed. “ _Fuck my life. Here it comes, anyway. Found him. He’s alive. He was arrested. The arrest is bullshit. Dana is making blood-pudding out of the arresting officers’ bollocks, as we speak. He’s been released. Eric’s taking him straight to a hospital, because Dana’s worried something dodgy’s happened. Got all that?”_

Newt blinked. “Sorry...dodgy?! what happened?!”

B ignored him. “ _So! Step one, go to Crowley’s. Step two, assemble your features into your best approximation of a reassuring expression, and tell Crowley that his old man is at John Radcliffe Hospital, but is basically fine.Step three, drive Crowley there. Fail to mention the rest. Let Dana handle him. Got it?_ ”

“But...”

“ _Counting on you, Crisis Bear.Don’t let Crowley near that police station. Cooler heads, yeah_? “

“But...”

“ _Go_.” She hung up.

Crowley was still staring at him, haggard, his eyes huge.

Newt assembled his features into his best approximation of a reassuring expression.

* * *

When Crowley staggered into Accident and Emergency, he very nearly managed to get himself triaged as an acute cardiac presentation. 

He insisted that this was just _how he walked_ , and his chest _didn’t_ hurt- well not _properly_ \- and he was probably _always_ this colour. It still took a passing nurse, who seemed to recognize him, to extract him from triage and get him through the locking double doors to see Ari.

“Were you here when we came in before?” Crowley asked her, as she lead him through the ground floor department. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”

“Not really surprising love,” she replied. “Don’t let it worry you. Last bay in the corner, there. Not as quiet as we’d like, but there’s very little quiet to be had down here, at the best of times, and we’re slammed this morning.”

She said ‘this morning’ as if it was 11am rather than not quite 4am. 

Weirdly, that made Crowley want to cry.

“Thank you,” he said. “I really am sorry I don’t remember you. I bet you were really nice. You seem really nice.”

She patted his shoulder. “We’ll be around, yeah? We _are_ slammed, but still ask if you need anything. We’ll do our best.”

He nodded and stepped into the bay to find Ari in the bed, and Eric sitting by him a chair.

Eric’s face exploded into sunshine when he saw Crowley’s. He jingled a set of keys that had been resting in his lap. Attached was the fluffy kiwi key chain Crowley had given him... what... 15 months ago now?

“Kiwi man!” Eric exclaimed. 

Crowley hugged him, without noticing beforehand that he had decided to. Luckily, it seemed Eric was a hugger.

“Now Mr Crowley’s here, I’m just going to step out, and call the boss, see if they needs something. They’re under a bit of personal stress, and B and Dana bring out each other’s inner Fury. Capital F Fury, mind, like the Greek monsters. Although, I guess, lower-case fury too. Anyways...”

It took Crowley a moment to parse that Eric wasn’t talking to him, but rather to Ari, who Crowley had taken for asleep.

He _wasn’t_ asleep, Crowley now realised. He was lying still, unmoving, unresponsive.  


  
But awake.

Crowley’s chest decided it _did_ hurt rather a lot, after all.

He half slid, half collapsed into Eric’s chair. “Hey, Angel,” he said, flinching  at the sound of his own voice, because it sounded like a scream. The birth scream of a love child of gravel and a chalk-board nail.

Ari didn’t actually answer him, or really, even look at him. But when Crowley caressed Ari’s palm, with gentle finger tips, Ari closed his own hand around Crowley’s, squeezing softly.

* * *

Newt’s lizard brain did not like 4am A&E departments. This one was loud, raucous, and miserable. 

  
It also had a woman, who was dressed like a 1930’s French fashion plate in it, talking on her mobile.

When she hung up, and fixed Newt with laser beam eyes, Newt’s lizard brain ordered him to scarper. Newt’s heart was braver, though, and here for his friends.

  
  


“You’re here with Crowley, yeah?” the absurdly overdressed woman insisted, in Newt’s direction. “Now, help me out. Are you the one B calls a cartoon bear, or the one they call an amphibian?”

Newt blinked. “Erm... _both_ actually? _probably_? They called me a Care Bear earlier, and I am a newt. Well, not _a_ newt. I am Newt. Newton.”

“Right....” the woman replied, unblinking. “Well, I’m Dana Agon.”

“The solicitor,” Newt confirmed, definitely, absolutely, not extremely intimidated. Perish the thought. “Nice to meet you. Newton Pulsifer. I am. As I said. Well, half said... it’s been a bit of a day.”

Dana nodded. “It certainly has.”

“B said Ari was arrested?” Newt asked, hoping his tone conveyed how preposterous that seemed to him.

“Yeah, he was,” Dana sighed. “Drug arrest for imaginary drugs...”

“They planted drugs on him?!” Newt asked, alarmed. That sounded bad. 

“I’ll admit, that’s what I _thought_ I was going to be walking in on,” Dana replied. “But, if that was the plan, it wasn’t a well-organized one. They didn’t have the drugs, ready. Although, to be fair, they weren’t expecting me yet. Hadn’t called me. By luck, when I _was_ tipped off by a contact, I was in High Wycombe, so I got there _fast_...

”...There was no paperwork ready. Custody record had more holes than a floozy’s fishnets. I threatened to have their evidence locker audited, if something _had_ shown up, and that was enough to get them to back down...

”...If Cryer was behind it, then it would have been better _organised._ Honestly, I think this was just a couple of flat-foots setting out to hassle him, and things got out of hand. “

“Can you just _have_ their evidence locker audited?” Newt picked as his question, over ‘Cryer WTF?’ and ‘what were you doing in High Wycombe of all places?’

“Dunno,” Dana shrugged. “Probably, if I tried hard enough. Glad we didn’t have to find out, though. Important thing was, Ms 2am-Custody-Officer didn’t know either...

”...So, I’ve got a copy of the search report, the custody report, I’ve badgered blood tests and X-rays out of this lot here. Nah, not X-rays. _Whatzitz?_ Xrays on steroids?”

“CT scan?” Newt supplies.

Dana nodded. “That’s the one, yeah. I’ve also hired a large fellow to skulk outside that cop shop, and put Crowley in a headlock, if he tries to go in and knock some skulls together. So, with all that taken of, you got the rest of this handled, Newton? Can I return to my crypt before daylight?”

“I don’t know, really,” Newt supplied.

“Eh, you’ll manage,” Dana muttered. “Tell ya what, you can keep Eric. Hate how he drives, anyway. Just drop him at a train station when your done, yeah? Maybe spot him a tenner for fare, if that’s how it works in the sticks. See ya, Newton.”

She strode out of A&E then, and, Newt could only assume, dissolved into the mist. 

Newt wondered who Eric was.

* * *

Crowley just sat.  


  
As much as he hated this hospital, the places his mind had taken him the last few hours were worse. And so, despite the crashing waves of memory, he was content to sit in this stupid little curtained area, holding Ari’s hand. Warm hand. _Alive_ hand.

_Just sit_.

Details did creep in, unwanted, to his self imposed stillness. Harrowingly familiar restraint marks on the wrist he could see. A thick, ugly cast on the other wrist. A bruise on a temple partially hidden by sweat-plastered curls. Little, hateful details that tried to kindle in Crowley’s exhaustion. In his frozen rage. 

_Just sit._

He spoke soothing words into the silence, forcing love into the flat sharpness is his voice ”We’ll get that island, I talked about, Angel. The one with the lighthouse. And no one will ever bother us again,” He thought maybe Ari squeezed his hand a little in response.

_Just sit._

Eventually, though, a little team of doctors arrived, barging into the little oasis of calm Crowley had tried to build, all noisy professionalism. They wanted to admit Ari to orthopedics for a day, for wrist surgery, and then, following that, to psych, assuming a bed could be found.

This threat was enough to animate Ari. Not much, but enough to catch Crowley’s eyes and shake his head, desperately.

”Ahh... no thanks,” Crowley told the doctors, shakily. He was fearful of rejecting medical advise, but it was what Ari was asking of him, and he wasn’t about to fail his angel just now.    
  


The orthopaedic surgeon frowned. “He NEEDS wrist surgery.”

Crowley held his ground. “It’s not personal, just this _particular_ hospital is a little tricky for us. It will get done, just, maybe, day-surgery? Somewhere else?”

The surgeon continued to scowl, and Crowley suddenly detected the in mistrust her eyes. “This wrist has been broken before. I can tell from the radiograph. About three years ago. It wasn’t set properly _that_ time, either.”

Crowley sighed, heavily. This particular piece of the past was new to him. He met the surgeon’s eyes, resentfully. _Where were you or your kind, madam, with your outrage and fury, when he was stuck with Elijah?_

“That would be courtesy of his ex, probably. Bad guy. Locked up now. It _will_ get fixed this time. Just not here.”

The surgeon was unhappy, but Crowley gradually, carefully, negotiated referrals and discharge instructions.

His phone was buzzing, for the hundredth time. Ana.

**will you tell your wife what is going on, so she stops fucking calling me?!** Crowley texted to Newt.

It was _Ana’s_ articles about _Ana’s_ fears about _Ana’s_ twins that had caused all this, and Crowley wasn’t ready to not hold it against her.

**I would, but you haven’t told me anything. What IS happening?!** Newt texted back.

_Well fuck._

**Broken wrist. Needs surgery. Not here. We’ll be out soon. Or you could just COME IN HERE ALREADY.**

There was a pause before Newt replied. **I think I need to find some bloke called Eric. Do you know who that is?**

**I’ll find Eric.** Crowley replied. He sat heavily back down in the chair.

“Not long now, Angel, I promise.”

”I want to go home,” Ari whispered.   
  


From what Crowley understood, it was the first thing he’d said since arriving at the hospital...

... so, it was happening.

”You will Angel,” Crowley promised. “Almost done.”

He was going to take his love home. He was going to wrap him in as many blankets as he could find. He was, somehow, going coerce as many cats as he could find into Ari’s lap, and put something soothing on the telly. Maybe that Tony Robinson thing where they dug up Roman villas and Anglo Saxon round houses in random fields. Ari liked that. And he was going to hold him until he stopped shaking. He was going to smooth every amiss curl, reset them around his fingers. He was going to kiss every tear that fell.

And then, he was going to turn his mind to how to deal, finally, with Enoch Cryer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: somewhat graphic descriptions of violence and revenge fantasies. 
> 
> Some dehumanizing of people with mental illness.

“Ari, sweetheart? I’m sorry, but you _have_ to get up. We’ll be late if we don’t leave soon. We might be anyway.” Crowley tore at his own hair, distractedly. He felt like a total brute, honestly. His poor Angel was clearly _terrified_ about the prospect of leaving the house.

But his _wrist_...

Ari lowered his head and sobbed absolutely silently. “I can’t. I just. I’m so sorry, I _can’t_.”

“But you have to,” Crowley begged. “You _NEED_ the surgery.” It had been no small feat to get Ari his appointment, with a highly respected London surgeon, at short notice. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that horrible X-ray. The point was that Ari has needed surgery, three years ago, and Elijah hasn’t gotten it for him, and Crowley wasn’t Elijah.

Ari sadly shook his head. “Please don’t make me go. Please. I don’t want to go outside. I don’t want to go out _there_. I don’t want to meet a stranger, and let him put me to sleep on a table, and not know what’s happening. I can’t do it. I don’t care about my wrist. I just want to stay here. _Please_.”

Crowley exhaled. “We can get icecream after?”

Ari didn’t even smile. “I know you went to trouble and... and I’ll pay for any cancellation fee, but I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“You remember what that surgeon said, though,” Crowley replied desperately. “We have to get this done, soon. If we wait even a few more days, it could start to heal wrong, and then there will be more pain, more tearing, more scarring, loss of function long term...”

“I’m not afraid of pain,” Ari replied, listlessly. “At least, not _that_ kind. And... if this means I’ll never make the finals at Wimbledon, then so be it. Just don’t make me go out _there_.”

Crowley’s breath jittered. “I’m calling Ana,” he threatened.

“Do what you must.”

“Angel, _talk_ to me. I don’t understand any of this. I want to, but I don’t. What happened at that police station? Please tell me.”

Ari’s eyes refocused and dropped to the floor. “Nothing. Nothing happened.”

“Oh, but sweetheart, that’s bullshit. You’re injured. Something happened, and the fact you won’t talk about it, and now won’t get medical help...you’re _terrifying_ me.”

“It wasn’t...” Ari exhaled, and then seemed to deflate even further. Folding in on himself. “It was my fault. I... I just _panicked_. They were police officers, and Elijah and Gabriel were police officers. They handcuffed me, and.. and Gabriel handcuffed me, at the manor, and they manhandled me into a car, and Gabriel... well I just _panicked_. No... _more_ than panicked. I lost my mind. I couldn’t think, or talk, I was trapped in ice. And, when we got to the police station, they said they were going to strip search me, and I just... the ice melted and suddenly I was boiling hot, it felt like I was on fire, and I didn’t mean to fight them, I... I didn’t decide to... but I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t stop panicking and flailing... so, you see, they _had_ pin me down, force my clothes off. I broke my own wrist, really. It was like I was caught in a trap. This blind, animal panic. I would have pulled the cuffs through my own wrists, if I was strong enough. They _had_ to pin me down. They had to... only they were heavy, like Gabriel, and they were leaning on my back so I couldn’t breath properly, like I had that bag on my head again, and it just kept getting worse, and... at a certain point... I don’t even know what happened. I don’t remember. I don’t remember how I got back in my cell, back in my clothes. I lost my mind, Anthony! I actually _lost_ my _mind_.”

He was still crying. Plump, crystalline raindrop shaped tears, falling from huge, blue-grey eyes. 

In his mind, Crowley tore into his own face with his fingernails. In his mind, he screamed, wild-faced and bloody, at the sky. In his mind, he tore that police station into the ground, like a storm pulled shipwrecks into the sea, and for a moment, in his mind, he wrenched the still-beating heart of Enoch Cryer from his chest.

In his living room, however, he did none of those things. He hushed and soothed. He hugged fiercely, and murmured. He breathed air, flavoured with salt, from terror and from tears. In his living room, he loved with fury.

“Alright, Angel. No surgeon today. We’ll try again tomorrow. Do you think you could manage to go see Rae, though? It’s an emergency, I’m sure we can work something out.”

Ari sighed softly. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I can’t. Not today. I want to stay here. It’s safe here. I need to... I need to stay here.”

“A walk to the barn, then?” Crowley asked. “Visit the girls?”

Ari looked sad, then, almost devastated, but resolvedly shook his head.

“Okay, Angel,” Crowley soothed. “That’s okay.”

* * *

Eric had been such a delightful houseguest that Newt couldn’t bear the thought of ditching him at a train station, and resolved to drive him back to London instead.

This did not involve informing Crowley. While Newt was likely still employed as Crowley’s driver, on paper somewhere, Crowley now largely drove himself. Newt’s role had morphed into managing Tadfield Manor, the business, which was somewhere between a wedding venue and a legal fiction invented by B for tax purposes. 

There was a venue tour scheduled at the manor today, and so Newt put in a quick call, to his sort-of assistant, who was, luckily, on school holiday, and, also luckily, the equal of the worst bridezilla out there.

“Thank you, Pepper,” Newt replied. “Could you maybe also have a word to the gardener about the hydrangeas? Brides don’t seem to like hydrangeas, but I reckon if we just cut the flowers off they’ll think they are just... sort of bushes, you know?”

There’d been an article in a bridal magazine about half a year ago which said that hydrangeas were bad luck for weddings, and since then, Crowley’s preternaturally long-seasoned hydrangeas had become the bane of Newt’s  existence.

“ _We could just pull them out, you know_.” Pepper replied, crossly. “ _Replace then with azaleas. All these fluffy bridal ninnies are mad keen on azaleas._ ”

Newt frowned. “But, that seems terribly mean to the hydrangeas. It’s not their fault they are unlucky, is it?”

“ _Oh, **I’m** being mean to the hydrangeas? You’re the one that wants to cut off their flowers, and shove them into the closet. Maybe hydrangeas would rather die, than not truly be themselves! Did you ever think of that? Maybe they’d rather be all slaughtered on the fields of Culloden than have us take their freedom._”

Newt massaged his forehead. “So, I think you are mixing up the Jacobites and William Wallace. You might want to pick one. I’d probably suggest Wallace. I don’t think the hydrangeas care about being Catholic.”

“Same difference,” Pepper grunted.

“Same difference?! They were over 400 years apart. That’s like saying there’s no difference between you and Elizabeth the first!”

“Exactly!” 

Newt gave up. “Okay fine. Leave the hydrangeas. Got to go.”

“You all right, mate?” Eric asked, sliding up behind him. 

Newt smiled. “Oh yes. Just... teenagers, you know!”

“Yeah! Teenagers are great,” Eric replied, happily. “You’ll be a dad to two in, what...161 months, eh?”

“That’s the plan yeah,” Newt replied. “The hope...”

“You two are pretty worried, aren’t you?” Eric replied, all gentle sympathy. “Probably won’t help much, cause you don’t know me, and you don’t know how my feelings have a way of turning out, but I’ve got a _GOOD_ feeling about this house. This is going to be a happy house. Full of love.”

“I very mush hope you are right,” Newt replied, cracking, just a little. “I am a little terrified, actually. I’m terrified of being a father, I don’t know how to be a father, and I’m even more terrified about not being a father. And I’m terrified of losing Ana, I mean these things happen, and I’m terrified that if something did happen to the twins, we wouldn’t make it. That we’d just tear apart. I love her, Eric. She’s the warm place at the center of my heart. I don’t think I was actually ever really happy, before I met her, and I don’t know who I would be without her. And... and Dana left me in charge. People don’t leave me in charge of things! I’m not that bloke, I’ve never been that bloke.”

Eric considered him thoughtfully. “I dunno, mate. If Dana reckons you are that bloke, I would lend serious thought to the possibility you might just have been that bloke, all along. Dana’s good at people, and I don’t mean she’s friendly, cause, lord knows she ain’t. But she understands how people fit together, like. She’d have been a great career adviser for kiddies, if she weren’t, you know, a fiend from the pits of hell. In town, right, she’s called the Lord of the Files, because she knows who everybody is, and what everybody knows, and what everybody wants. She’s always owed a favour, by exactly the right person, at exactly the right time. ‘S what makes her so good!”

“She _is_ intimidating,” Newt replied. “And she was awfully good about getting Ari out of trouble.”

Ericstartled. “Nah, my man! You don’t get it. That was her on a _bad_ day. She’s furious that your mate got arrested. That the rozzers went for him, while she was watching the tabloids. She almost never slips up, and she doesn’t like people who get by her. Whoever this Cryer dude is, well, she’ll be gunning for him. You’ll see. And that’ll be good, cause then, you’ll understand her, and you’ll believe what she said about you. Also, be good for your mate, I suppose. Never see the poor man, except in hospitals.”

Newt was quiet for a moment. It was a moment he spent fighting the absurd urge to ask Eric to stay around for a few days. It was nice to have someone to talk to. “You all ready then?”

* * *

“B, get me a meeting with him,” Crowley replied tersely. “I just want to talk.”

“ _Bullshit you want to talk. You want to dip his head in battery acid._ ”

“... and talk,” Crowley pouted. “And I’ll stick with the talking.”

“ _Let sleeping dogs lie, Crowley._ ”

“He’s not sleeping, B. He’s come after me, and my family, twice now. Second time, two days ago. Why the fuck are you talking about sleeping dogs?”

“ _Dana fixed it, didn’t she_?” B hissed.

“B don’t get me wrong, Dana’s great, she was a fucking superhero, and we’d be a lot worse off without her, but, she hasn’t fixed it. Ari is... he won’t even leave the house. I can’t just sit here like a... what is it that sits... duck! Sitting duck. I need to get in a room with this man and...”

“ _And...? And what, Crowley? What are you going to **do**? Enoch Cryer is the worst kind of arsehole, cause he thinks he’s right. Now, you could maybe pay him a few hundred grand to leave you alone..._”

“Non-starter,” Crowley hissed. 

“ _Or... you can let things lie a little. Wait for him to overplay his hand._ ”

“That’s it? That’s honestly your suggestion. Do nothing?!”

“ _Not do nothing,_ _play defense,_ ” B replied. “ _Rehab your image, in the eyes of the public, a little. S’good time for it. Dumb shit, like getting your shiny, new cottage in lifestyle mags, maybe one of your daft cats or calves in some pet section somewhere? Oh, and marry Ari. Wedding would be great, you both photograph_ _lovely, everyone loves a recovered playboy, and it will lend Ari more of your aura. Remind everyone they are messing with Anthony Crowley’s husband_.”

“Oh, fuck you, B,” Crowley replied flatly. “I can’t even get Ari to get surgery, - no! go for a walk, even. How the fuck would I ever get him to marry me?”

“ _Ask him,_ ” B replied, shortly. “ _Guarantee that will do it_.” 

“That’s stupid. The whole plan is stupid”

B, somehow, _audibly_ rolled their eyes. “ _And playing Inigo Montoya with Enoch Cryer isn’t stupid? You win this in the court of public opinion, Crowley, and you do it by being shiny, happy, and in love. Revenge fantasies belong in your head. Believe it or not, for people like you, the road to happily ever after is the high road._ ”

“Would you have him killed, if I asked you to?” Crowley asked.

The question hung.

“ _No. Not cause I don’t think he should be dead, and certainly not cause I can’t. Totally could. But you don’t want that, Crowley. It’s not who you are._ ”

Crowley very nearly hung up. Very nearly said he would get someone else. Very nearly fired his oldest friend. “I’ll call you tomorrow. This conversation isn’t over.”

* * *

Newt sipped his tea. Across the table were Crowley and Ana, and the subject was Ari’s wrist surgery. Newt was profoundly uncomfortable that Ari was not part of this conversation, and to make matters worse, Ana and Crowley had lost their heads completely.

“I think we need to take a step back,” Newt said, settling the mug back on the table. “Because we have wandered into the realm of the completely unacceptable.”

Crowley looked pained at that, and folded his arms. 

Ana released a long sigh. “It’s not like we enjoy that it’s come to this, Newt. But it’s an _emergency_. Look, I know that the wrist looks okay now, in a cast, but you need to understand that they were expecting to do surgery... the cast was just a splint really, for stabilisation. They didn’t even set it properly because they didn’t know they needed to try, cause they thought they’d be doing surgery! And, by the way, that cast was only ever put on to be temporary. As the swelling starts to go down, it will become loose, and, possibly, _worse_ than useless. If we do nothing, he’s looking at a lifetime of pain and poor function.” 

Newt folded his arms. “And, if his partner and the woman he considers a sister, DRUG him, and manhandle him into a car, to force him into a surgery he doesn’t want?! What sort of pain and poor function will that lead to? I won’t be a part of this, and I’ll try to stop it, if I can.”

Crowley looked at him drily. “What are you going to DO to stop us, Newt? Call the police? Wonder what will happen then?”

“I’ll...l’ll call Dana,” Newt replied, firmly.

Crowley snorted. “I pay for Dana.”

Newt met his eyes. “If you are saying what I think you are saying, that’s beneath you. Now, if we can briefly return to reality, if Ari won’t leave the cottage, what’s the best that can be done here?”

“Well, not surgery!” Ana replied firmly. “All those kitchen-table surgeries you see on tv are ludicrous enough, and I haven’t even seen one of them stupid enough to try orthopedics. We’d all but guarantee a catastrophic infection. The best we’d be able to do is a closed reduction and a new cast.”

“Then, that’s what we do,” Newt replied. “No, let me rephrase, since you two are being tossers about this. That’s what we _offer_ Ari, and we _do_ whatever he chooses.”

“What about anaesthesia, Newt?” Ana bit vack, throwing up her hands. “Do you have any idea how much that would hurt? We can’t DO much more than a moderate sedative in uncontrolled conditions.”

“We can’t kidnap our friends either,” Newt replied, firmly.

“Newt, he’s not thinking straight right now,” Ana pleaded. “It’s not his fault, but he’s counting on us to look out for his interests while he... well, while he _can’t_.”

Newt nodded. “I know, Ana. And that’s what I’m trying to do, as well. No kidnapping. No... _forcing_. And we face what comes, when it comes.”

Ana looked up at the ceiling, perhaps to disguise her moistening eyes, but also, Newt suspected, because he’d won her over.

“Um... there’s... I know a guy in Cheltenham,” she began. “Retired orthopod. Old school guy. From back before surgery was standard. Set a lot of wrists in his day. Let’s hope it’s like riding a bike.”

They both looked at Crowley now. “Um... yeah. Alright. Guess we can at least have the guy out. See what he says. Give him a call, Ana. Money’s no object, obviously.Let me talk to Ari first, yeah? Could take a bit of work to get him to consider a stranger...”

Crowley vacated the kitchen in search of Ari.

Ana looked at Newt. “I’m honestly not sure which of us is right, you know. I can’t tell. Maybe I am losing it.”

“You are just under a lot of pressure,” Newt replied softly. “I mean, I think _I’m_ right. Ari isn’t a child. And, I don’t think he’d thank us for treating him like one, even when he is better one day.”

Ana pauses then, and looked at Newt with eyes more tired than he had ever seen them. “Newt, Ari isn’t going to get better. Not like you mean, anyway. He’s never going to be... he’s... at a certain point the human mind just can’t heal itself. He’s been through to much. Trauma becomes chronic and... At a certain point, all you can do is keep people alive, and somewhat functional, long enough that something other than drugs or suicide kills them, and that’s what you call a win. “

“I don’t believe that,” Newt replied. “Or maybe, sometimes, but not Ari. We aren’t there yet. There’s plenty of hope.”

Ana clicked her tongue. “You’re being naive, Newt. We can’t afford to think that way any more. The world is cold. The world is people like Gabriel and Enoch and Elijah and your father. And, we have no _business_ bringing children into a world like this. But if it’s too late for that, then we need to face the truth. Because they could have problems Newt, our children are at risk of permanent disabilities, permanent vulnerabilities. And the world is predatory. There’s no place in it for the weak. If we don’t face that truth, then we can’t protect them and if we can’t protect them, then they could end up as broken, terrified and broken people with half a life, like...”

“People like me,” Ari said softly, from the kitchen door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments, readers. I’m so sorry I’m so far behind in replying. It might get a little worse before it gets better.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Today we have description of a medical procedure, a scene in group therapy and a sex scene.

“My dear, do stop apologising,” Ari replied, listlessly. “It really is quite all right.”

Ana wrung her hands. “It’s really _not_! I was so awful. And... it’s not even _true_. I don’t even think that. I don’t know why I said it. I feel really, really awful.”

“My heart bleeds for you,” Crowley hissed, leaning against the sink, arms folded.

Ari shot his love a frustrated glance. “Please, my dear! Least said, soonest mended. And Ana, dear, eavesdropping is terribly rude, on my part, and anyway, I _am_ broken in a literal sense, or at least my blasted wrist is, and, that is the main order of business of the afternoon.”

Ana had indeed returned with her retired orthopaedic surgeon colleague, a light box she had borrowed off one off Adam Young, a portable digital X-ray set up she had borrowed from Leslie the vet, and what seemed like half of her own office equipment. Her colleague, Mr Mott (apparently he didn’t do “doctor”) had declared the assembled paraphernalia, plus the contents of the bag he had brought, sufficient.

Mott and Newt were currently setting this up around the dining room table, while Ana was in the kitchen, allegedly putting in an IV port, but mostly just sniffling and apologising.

A small part of Ari was rather hoping she managed to sedate him heavily before she started crying. He really didn’t want to deal with making his pregnant friend crying on top of everything else.

If only Crowley would stop sniping at her.

“Honestly, Ana, dear. _Please_ don’t feel badly on my account. I’m sure it does me no good.”

Nothing he was saying seemed to be cheering her much. Ari tried to think of something else he _could_ say that might. He supposed he hadn’t actually formally accepted any of her apologies. He supposed he _could_ try that, but his mind kept sort-of _sliding off_ the idea. He couldn’t quite seem to manage it.

“I won’t be too dopey on whatever you give me, I hope?” he said, instead.

Ana sniffed. “Oh, don’t worry about that, sweetheart. I’m going to give you a muscle relaxant, and we’ll try pethidine but switch if it makes you nauseated... I considered ketamine but... I’m worried you wouldn’t like it...”

“I’m sure you know best, my dear,” Ari replied, vaguely concerned about the indignity of sloppily vomiting on everybody, but not sure he could do much about it.

“Mott just wants to take you through everything again before I sedate you, okay?” Ana said gently, placing the port.

Ari nodded, and Ana went to fetch her colleague.

“You’ve got this, Angel,” Crowley said, coming up behind him, gently rubbing his shoulders. “I’ll be right here the whole time. I will make sure nothing happens you wouldn’t be okay with. It’s going to be alright.”

Ari nodded, arranging his face into a smile, and turned to face the entering Mr Mott.

“So, Mr Fell!” Mott began. He was a large, cheerful man, with square bifocals and bright red suspenders holding up his tan trousers. “We are attempting what’s called a closed fracture reduction today. _Closed_ means non-surgical, no cutting basically, and _reduction_ means getting the bone ends back where we want them, yes?”

“Yes, please,” Ari replied, unconsciously chewing his lips. He had gathered this much from Ana.

“So,” Mott continued. “There are two ways to do this, I usually prefer what is called manual reduction, or ‘ _by hand’_ , but under the totality of circumstances, I think I’d rather go with something called FTT, or finger trap traction, which will take longer, but I think be a bit less acutely painful and perhaps less upsetting, as well. To give you a quick idea, in manual reduction, I would get your large friend in there to hold you, and your upper arm, still, while I pull on your wrist, but in FTT we would hang your arm up by your fingers, in these little finger trap thingies. You’re probably too young to have played with them as a child- everyone is so young these days!- but, you know what I mean yes? So we hang your hand using your fingersand then hang a weight above your elbow and let gravity do most of the work, and I only start pushing your bones around right at the end, while we are setting the cast. So, what do you think so far?”

Ari’s mouth has gone rather dry, but he answered the best he could. “I think the gravity one sounds better?” 

He snuck a quick look at Crowley, who had gone a little grey but was nodding encouragingly. 

Mott tilted his head. “How about this. How about we start with the gravity one, as you say, once your drugs have kicked in, and you see how you go. If it’s not working for you, we can stop and reassess.”

Ari nodded.

“Now,” Mott handed Ari what looked like a small plastic box. “Now, you might have seen one of these before. It’s a dog training clicker, but nobody here is a dog, okay? The reason I’ve given that to you, is that sometimes, when we feel in pain and out of control it can be hard to talk. And we are adding drugs into the mix. So, you need my attention? You need me to stop, to check in, I’ll be watching, and listening to everything you say, but, if you freeze up, just click that. And I’ll stop if there’s any way I can, and if I can’t, I’ll explain why. Okay?”

Ari nodded. It wasn’t his intention to call a stop to things. Crowley and Ana has gone to considerable expense and trouble to save him from his own fear and foolishness. But, something about the little box was comforting, and it couldn’t hurt to hang onto it, he supposed.

“You ready, Ana?” Mott asked.

Ana had the sedative syringe labelled neatly and ready to go. There were more syringes, and some unopened glass vials lined up as well. 

Ari decided not to ask.

* * *

Michael groaned. “Group therapy? Really? How’s that supposed to work? If everyone knows I’m police, they won’t want to talk. And, if we don’t tell people, then I can’t explain anything... and if people found out we lied...”

“Just tell the truth,” the nurse replied, maddeningly. “It will work out better than you think.”

This struck Michael as unlikely, and she was right. The group was a mix of old timers, punk kids and snooty hair-cut housewives, who all looked down on each other, and all looked down on Michael the most.

The counselor was tiny and bubbly, with a dark brown ponytail. She told them all that she ran triathlons, a fact she presumably thought would humanise her. 

Apparently a “getting to know you” session was necessary, and it was _agonizing_ , and a “sharing” followed that, and was _worse_.  


She honestly did not care exactly why these eleven strangers all drank too much. Out of habit she adopted a blank face, and managed not to roll her eyes at the paper thin excuses for drunk driving. And drunk stealing. And drunk punching.

Then it was her turn. “My father drank. And there was a thing at work.”

The counselor smiled encouragingly. “What sort of thing?”

Alright then, _Heather_ , you asked for it.

“I shot someone. Dead.”

Ooh, that got there attention! 

The counselor looked worried. “Okay... go on... just remember people might have... sensitives.”

“Well... I was investigating another police officer and I thought I was walking into one sort of thing, but it was something else entirely, when I arrived the officer was... committing a....violent crime. And they train you, but I wasn’t expecting it, to walk in on something like that. I wasn’t _ready_... and I shot him. He pointed a gun at me, and there were civilian lives at stake. Everyone else lived. But, the officer I shot died. And I was cleared by the brass, but other coppers... well, they think I should have acted differently. There was... err... some workplace bullying, I suppose you’d call it, and on top of the nightmares and all that. Got a bit much. So I drank. And then a friend brought me here. So yeah, that was a shit summary. I’m supposed to be good at that sort of thing, summarizing . For magistrates and juries. But yeah, you get the gist I suppose.”

The counselor paused. “You were in a highly traumatic life-threatening situation, you took a life and then you were ostracized by your peers.”

“Yeah, like that,” Michael replied. “That would have been a good summary. What Heather said.”

“My name is Sarah,” the counselor replied.

“Oh yeah, sorry,” Michael replied. “Didn’t mean to call you Heather.” _Out loud_.

“Using alcohol following a traumatic event is very common,” Sarah announced to the group. “But it’s not a long term solution.”

A few of the younger lads snickered. “Yeah, no shit, _Heather_.”

“Again, my name is Sarah.” 

Michael stared at her shoes.

Any remaining will to live was quickly sapped by teamwork and trust exercises.

“Do we really have to do that three times a week?” Michael muttered to herself on the way out.

One of the lads- Michael thought it might have been one of the ones who snickered- overheard her. “Go see Luke in East 17, before the next one, Killer. Get something to take the edge off...”

Michael remembered the tall, skinny man from the cafeteria.

East 17.

* * *

Ari sat down on the bed. The new cast was heavier than the old one, and longer too. Well past his elbow. He began to work his shirt sleeve off over it with this left hand. His head ached from the drugs earlier, so it was slow work.

“Let me help you,” Crowley said, sitting beside him, soft voiced and still pale.

Once Crowley took over, the shirt was removed much more efficiently, although no less gently.

They sat for a moment, watching each other. Under Crowley’s beautiful gaze, Ari was grateful for the t-shirt he was wearing, even if it was another layer he’d have to somehow get off.

Crowley sighed. “That was so hard to watch, today. I can’t imagine how it was for you.”

“It really wasn’t all that bad,” Ari replied, a little confused. He thought he’d born the pain rather well, and wasn’t sure why Crowley was so upset. “I mean, I can’t say it didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t... I wasn’t _frightened_.”

“Yeah, you’re brave, Angel. I can’t argue with that,” Crowley replied, his fingers coming up to Ari’s face, to hook a curl behind his ear. “But, I hate seeing you hurt. Thinking about some arsehole cop breaking your wrist. Thinking about the time Elijah broke your wrist...”

“Gabriel,” Ari whispered. When Crowley looked confused, he thought he’d better explain. “It was actually Gabriel that broke my wrist in London, before. Elijah was there obviously. They were high on something. And... Elijah always had a bit of a crush on Gabriel, I think. And the drugs made them, I don’t know... anyway, I didn’t want a part of it, just wanted to leave, but, and Elijah started shouting that I was embarrassing him. So I sort of made a dash for the door, I suppose, and just as I reached it, Gabriel just pulled a sconce off the wall, and slammed it down on my wrist holding the door knob.It’s funny. I did see a doctor the next day, and they didn’t mention me needing surgery, or needing anything like that contraption today. They just said to rest it. I suppose medicine advances...”

Crowley was just shaking his head. “Evil fuckers. Both of them, I’m so sorry.”

“I probably should have told you that story before,” Ari replied tiredly. “I just don’t like to talk about it.”

“S’okay Angel,” Crowley sighed. “I’ll take your stories when you are ready to tell them. There’s no rush. Let me help you with your t-shirt, there.”

Ari pouted. “Can’t I keep it on if you are going to... look at me.”

“What if I want to look at you without it on?” Crowley replied with a purr that could put their actual cats to shame.

“Oh,very well,” Ari sighed, but quickly felt himself start to smile once Crowley carefully peeled off the shirt and began kissing along his shoulders and collarbone, calling him his beautiful angel. Calling him _brave_.

Ari’s lips began to tingle and to warm. He just _had_ to kiss Crowley’s beautiful hair, all auburn and mahogany, and cinnamon-scented. 

Crowley correctly guessed that Ari’s lips truly desired his, and came to meet him, causing Ari to moan softly. Crowley’s secret scent, secret taste, flooded his mind with heat and with want.

Crowley escaped his lips and traced the line of of his jaw with tiny kisses and nuzzles. The caresses pulled the flush of Ari’s lips downward towards his neck and, from there, through the rest of him, a cresting wave of desire, and suddenly Ari’s body wanted Crowley as much as his mind did. Or perhaps _more_ , because his body certainly whispered no doubt and no cautions.

“I want you to feel good for once,” Crowley murmured. “Can I try? Please. I’ll be careful.”

Ari found himself nodding, although not quite sure what he was agreeing to, and he did feel a small moment, of hesitation and of fear. 

But Crowley made his intention clear quickly, kissing downward along the meridian lines of pleasure he’d so patiently mapped on Ari’s body. Meandering, enjoying the sights, but on task. Crowley grew increasingly careful, watching Ari’s face closely, but he persisted.

Ari found himself vaguely startled. In his pre-Elijah years, he’d had lovers go down on him. And even Elijah had done so, on occasion, in the early years, before Ari’s pleasures had grown secondary, then peripheral, then unimportant, and then finally, unwelcome. 

“Are you okay?” Crowley asked, his tongue pausing on its course.

Ari nodded. _I’m not broken. I’m not_.

“Keep going?”

Ari nodded.

“Still got that clicker thingy?”

“Trouser pocket,” Ari managed to get out.

Crowley was closer. He extracted it and pressed it into Ari’s left hand. “Finger trap rules, okay. You click, I stop. You ask me to, I stop. I’m not sure, I check.”

Ari nodded.

Crowley’s tongue reached its destination, and... it was good. 

Ari gasped, and Crowley’s eyes flicked to his immediately. Ari managed a nod, but the eyes, the beautiful eyes kept watching him.

The tongue began to explore, to tease Ari out, developing a repertoire, teasing out and perfecting every possible sensation, as if slowly drawing out a piece of music from cacophony, or carving the form of a god from a block of marble.

Just as Ari thought he had uncovered the pattern, there would be an unexpected flick and a new variation would start. It was so _beautiful_ , somehow, and better still, so _Crowley_ , all his mercurial moods and intensity and all his love made into a symphony of sensation.

_Oh this is it, isn’t it?_ Ari thought, tears welling in his eyes. _This is what it should have been._

Just as Ari thought more was impossible, Crowley’s lips got involved, the heat of his mouth, the silken softness inside his cheeks. Maddening, playful, joyful- the cycle of exploration began again.

And, all the while, those _eyes_ , looking at him like he was beautiful, like he was worthy of miracles, like he was worthy of love.

There was a bad moment. Ari, watching Crowley watch him, suddenly yearned to touch his beautiful silken hair again. And, it was then that Ari felt fingers twist in his own hair. Not Crowley’s fingers. Fingers that weren’t there. But they still twisted, still pulled him forward so he choked.

And so Ari didn’t touch Crowley’s hair, instead he drove his fingernails into the heal of his hand, hard enough to bleed and caressed the glorious red with his eyes instead.

“I love you,” Crowley whispered watching him carefully, the heat of his breath a shadow where the heat of his mouth had just a moment ago been. “More?”

“Please. Yes.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: graphic violence in a nightmare,

Crowley had fallen asleep happily, encoiled with his Angel, in their bed, the air still scented with desire, his mouth and belly still glowing warm. 

But, that satiated and primal peace did not follow him into his dream.

_There he stood in dappled light. The little wood on Cowpasture Road. The road they now all drove miles out of their way to avoid._

_Ari was there, naked on the freezing ground, his face still trapped behind plastic. Gabriel and Elijah were there too, dressed in dark grey suits. Elijah’s face was blurry and indistinct - Crowley still only knew it from photographs, as strange as that seemed. Gabriel’s face was shark-like and crystal clear. Apparent daylight or not, all that was above them was a red tinged crescent moon._

_Crowley found his Ari’s wrist beneath his bare foot, and he was heavy in this dream. Preternaturally so. As he shifted this weight onto that foot, he felt the bones beneath begin to crack, splinter, and pulverise. He cruelly twisted his ankle and the bones ground, beneath the ball of his foot, like sand._

_Ari’s face, behind plastic silently screamed._

And then, Crowley woke. 

At first, there was the sensation of spinning as his brain struggled to understand that he was both lying down and stationary.

Then, the urge to sit up came, and was thwarted, by a sleep-heavy arm encircling him. 

In the soft dawning light, Ari’s skin was almost silver, the soft swells of his musculature like clouds.

_Safe_.

Crowley sought calm. Tried to nestle into the soft shoulder, tried to slip his hand into the one resting at his waist.

He saw them then, dug into Ari’s palm. Three, no four, wounds from fingernails driven into the palm, blood-tinged crescent moons.

Crowley forced then, an escape in earnest, clambering to the bathroom, making it only to the sink, bile spewing from his mouth.

When done retching, he wiped his lips roughly, with his own shaking hands. He turned, and found Ari watching him - alarm in his bright, blue eyes. Alarm... and hurt.

“Oh, no!” Crowley exclaimed holding out his hand. Vomiting of all things, of all mornings! “No, no.”

He lumbered forward, ungracefully,and collapsed next to Ari, kissing him furiously. It occurred to him only much later that rinsing his mouth first would have been the bare minimum of politeness. “No no. My love. I love you. Love you.”

Ari moved to stroke his hair, first with the cast-bound arm and then, seeming to remember, the other. “My dear, what’s wrong? Are you unwell? Whatever is the matter?”

Crowley couldn’t really think properly. Certainly couldn’t think of anything to say beyond ‘I love you.’ So he stuck with it. Over and over.

“Anthony!” Ari exclaimed, pulling him into a slightly awkward hug. “What is it? What has upset you so?”

Crowley didn’t mean to answer, but his treacherous eyes drifted to the wounds on Ari’s palm and Ari did not miss it.

“Oh, my dear,” Ari whispered. “It’s all right. Please, don’t be upset. You were lovely, so lovely. And so careful. This is... this is just how I am for now. Really. I was - am!- am so happy. It was never going to go perfectly...”

Crowley sniffed. “But... nothing less than perfect is _good enough_.” He was aware that this sounded ridiculous. He also aware he considered it absolutely true. “ _Nothing less_ is what I want for you.”

Ari sighed, without answering, hugged him tighter, and clicked his tongue, in a way that suggested he was vaguely exasperated.

Crowley found the sound, of all things, heart-stoppingly adorable. He chuckled in spite of himself.

“Now, my dear,” Ari said. “If we can dispense with this, perhaps you will permit me to make you breakfast.”

Crowley snorted. “Oh fuck off! With your broken arm? And after being strapped into medieval torture device? And that bullshit with Ana? I’m making _YOU_ breakfast. You are just going to lie here and be waited on. In fact, I’m going to peel grapes for you. And fan you with palm fronds. Not sure where I’m getting palm fronds, but dammit, it’s happening.”

“My dear,” Ari pouted. “You have already allowed we to be a completely selfish lover, yesterday evening. I _insist_ I be allowed to make breakfast and acquire whatever tropical greenery the morning requires. I am sure I’m perfectly capable of acquiring a palm leaf in a small Oxfordshire village at short notice.”

Crowley frowned, however. “No, Angel. No ‘selfish lover’ talk, not from you. Not ever. I’m not having it. Off the table.”

“But...”

“Off. The. Table. Now, what do you want for breakfast? We have... no idea actually. But I’ll make something good. I know what you like. Now! Recline on silk cushions already!”

Ari smiled thinly. “Actually, before I lose my nerve, my dear, there is one unpleasant thing to discuss. I think I shall have to resign from the library. I’m simply not going to be ready to leave the house soon, and it’s not fair to the village. Now, while I don’t flatter myself that it’s not my income which keeps us in grapes and silk cushions, I do want you to know that I will try to find a way to earn a....”

“Don’t,”Crowley interrupted. “Don’t quit the library. We’ll work it out. I’m sure you can do the admin stuff from here, and as for the actual book... wrangling ... I’ll get one of Them to do it.”

“One of _whom_?” 

“One of Them. You know. The kids. They always want jobs to buy whatever kids want money for. Bicycles and... spliffs, I guess? Dunno. Don’t care. Newt can lend you Pepper, or we’ll get one of the other... Thems. Deirdre’s kid, or the cheese kid... or the snotty one. Or is it the cheese kid who’s snotty? Forget. Newt knows. Anyway. Don’t resign. Let me handle it.”

Ari sighed, then nodded. “Well, all right . I suppose it can’t hurt to try.But really Crowley? The _cheese kid_?”

“Whatsizname. Stilton. It’s Stilton.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“Muenster? Cheddar? Edam?”

“Crowley!”

“Monterey Jack! That’s it!”

Ari looked appalled. “Really! How dare you. Monterey Jack is an... _American_ cheese. It’s Wensleydale. And we mustn’t make fun of the children. Especially if we are requesting their help.”

“Fine, fine. What sort of cheese do you want on your eggs? Roquefort? Feta? Gouda? Pecorino Romano?”

Ari threw a pillow at him.

* * *

The meeting had run long, Lord Hastur droning on about the usual faff, and B’s phone had been itching in their jacket pocket the whole time. 

Twelve missed calls, eight from the office, one from Eric, two from Dana, one from Crowley. 

And to thing they’d been hoping to nip out and visit Michael during their lunch break. (Not standard visiting hours, but until such times as society started paying nurses properly, B non standard hours were rarely a problem.)

Dana first they supposed. 

“Two things... “ Dana began. “First a shock jock blowing smoke about a Gabriel Bannerman inquest this morning. Making noise about a good cops reputation being besmirched by anonymous so called victims. Gross as fuck. But that’s mainstream press. And there’s going to be backlash press too cause, as I mentioned, gross as fuck....

“Second thing, can’t find Michael. She’s going to get pulled into this pretty fast and she’s fallen off the Earth. Pretty sure I can find her, but you could save me the trouble.”

B hissed. “How did we get jumped in the press?I thought you were watching them. Losing your touch, Dana?”

“That’s the problem with shock jocks, isn’t it?” Dana replied with a chill. “They barely even have editors. Just spew whatever crap they are thinking half the time, and I can’t actually read minds, you know.”

“Yeah, whatever. Yeah, I know were Michael is, but I ain’t telling you.”

“Suit yourself,” Dana replied. “But I will find her, regardless. You are just literally wasting my time. Ciao Harpy.”

B allowed thensellf a minute to think, before calling Crowley back. “Propose to your boyfriend yet, Swordfish? I want some good press on you immediately.”

“It’s.... it’s not a good time for that. Lets do the house thing or the pets thing. Or I’ll do a big donation to someone,” Crowley said back, in a guarded whisper.

“Oh! He’s there in the room with you isn’t he?”

“Yeah, actually so if you could please speak...”

B shouted into the phone. “Oy, Tragedy-Bear! Will you marry Crowley for me? I need a magazine spread!”

“B, I will actually kill you, I will,” Crowley snapped back.

B blinked. _Someone got up on the wrong side of bed this morning._ “You called me you know.”

“Um yeah... I sent you an email. We need to cover a library intern.”

B rolled their eyes and checked their inbox. “Okay I see, Pippin Galadriel Moonchild. Isn’t that your cat? Crowley, are you trying to embezzle money from yourself or something?”

“No. That’s Pepper.”

“The cats are Merry and Pepper?”

“No. The intern is Pepper. The cat is also named Pippin.”

B sighed. “Yeah, alright. My brain real estate is valuable. Library intern. Got it. Anything else?”

“You okay B?”

The question shocked B so thoroughly they almost told the truth. “Yeah... just got a friend... having a thing. And I keep getting distracted by cats and shock-jocks, because my job is stupid.”

“You are very good at your stupid job, though,” Crowley replied. “But B, if you need time, don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it this end. Or maybe get Newt to handle it.”

“Oh yeah, reminds me actually. You should start paying Pulsifer more. He’s somewhere between a venue manager and your executive assistant at this point and you pay him minimum wage.”

“I do not!” Crowley replied appalled. “Do I? How much is minimum wage again.”

“I badly want to make you guess, but your answer will just depress both of us. Point is, less than someone would want to be on with a wife with a complicated twin pregnancy.”

“Well, yeah, of course,” Crowley replied. “Let’s pay him more.”

B ground their teeth. “How much more?” 

“Oh, I don’t know... um... what’s standard?”

“What’s standard for drivers with a computer engineering degree, that don’t actually drive but instead act as venue managers slash executive assistants?”

“Yeah.”

B lost patience with the conversation. “About 70,000 pounds, I’d say,” they replied deadpan

“That sound fine,” Crowley replied, distractedly. 

B snorted. _Blue-blood tosser_. They loved him though.

“Okay, good. Talk later. Stay out of trouble, Swordfish.”

B was going to make him do puffy magazine pieces until he bled.

* * *

There was no orange juice, and Ana wanted orange juice, so Newt set about juicing some oranges. If he was going to be cross with her, he could at least bring her orange juice first.

Yesterday evening had been a bad time for an argument. They had barely made it through the front door before she’d doubled over and burst into tears.

And this morning, whatever pregnancy was doing to her pelvis was hurting so badly that she could barely shuffle to the bathroom to throw up her crackers.

And now it was time for Newt to take her to task. _With orange juice_.

She had gone back to bed after vomiting. She looked up at him, through strands of dark tangled hair, as he set the orange juice down on the coaster by her dresser.

He smoothed the strands out of her face. “You were pretty cruel about Ari yesterday, Ana. I know you didn’t mean for him to hear it, but you said it. And, you said it in his home. And, you said it to me, and everything you say about him could apply to me as well. And, honestly, it hurt.”

Ana nodded, looking miserable. “I know! What’s _wrong_ with me, Newt? Why are all of my darkest thoughts just falling out of my mouth? I don’t say things that I don’t mean. At least, I usually don’t. What’s happening to me?”

“I think you aren’t well, my darling,” Newt replied. “And I think you should start taking some of your own advice. Let’s get you some help?”

“I don’t want to take anything while I’m pregnant, Newt, or I would have started already. And I don’t have time for therapy. I’m 15 weeks pregnant today. I need weekly OBGYN visits and two weekly ultrasounds starting next week, and there’s only nine weeks till they want me in hospital. I’ve got nine weeks to get the medical care of everyone in this village organised and ready for a locum. I don’t have _time_.”

“You do,” Newt replied firmly. “We make time. I don’t know what’s ahead, Ana, but it’s going to be harder, and scarier than any of this. You need help _now_.”

But Ana didn’t answer, she lowered her head into her pillow and cried.Newt rubbed her back and her shoulders helplessly.

The juice warmed, untouched, beside the bed

* * *

Michael watched the clock. B had said she might come today, but it was becoming increasingly apparent she wasn’t.

And that was fine.

After all, they weren’t together any more.

Not even friends. Not _really_.

B had done their duty by dumping Michael in this godforsaken treacle pit, and Michael would probably never even see them again.

_Luke. East 17_.

Michael caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on her way out.

_Why the fuck were there fucking mirrors in this place??_

She barely recognized her own face.

_Are you really doing this?_

The face hardened.

Apparently, she was.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: discussion of drugs, implied drug use and consequences of drug use
> 
> Personal note:
> 
> I feel awful that I’m not responding to comments. It’s simply that some of the themes herein are so close to the bone that even proof reading these chapters is an emotional roller coaster. (Why yes, I do proof read! I’m just bad at it!)
> 
> Despite my rudeness, there have been many wonderful, thoughtful comments and they mean the world to me.

The door to East 17 was ajar. Michael knocked anyway. She knocked a little too hard. The facility’s doors were light - _cheap_ \- and the door swung open to reveal Luke, shirtless, reclining on his bed, and looking right at her.

“Dolly Bird!” he purred. “So good to see you! Step into my parlor!”

Michael pursed her lips. Still, she had come this far.

Luke smiled as if he could read her mind. “Close the door behind you, Dolly Bird. Not sure if you are here for business or pleasure, but either way...”

“You are, quite fundamentally,not my type,” Michael sneered.

Luke rolled one of his shoulders back, arching his back, displaying his pale, lean chest. “No?”

“No,” Michael replied firmly. Perversely, her mind drifted to B’s body, of all people, all those secret, alabaster planes on a lithe, elven frame. “I want.... well, I want _drugs_. Nothing major... just... something.”

Luke laughed. “All business, Dolly Bird. What’s the matter? Can’t stand bearing your murderous heart for the entertainment of all the drunken Chelsea-Beckies?”

“It all hurts so much, and I can’t sleep, even though I’m so... so _tired,”_ Michael admitted. Part of her marveled at how numb she felt. Shouldn’t this be momentous? Shouldn’t she feel more? “Satisfied? Do you have something or don’t you?”

Luke stood up, finally. “Oh.. I have many, _many_ things.”

He turned his back to her, reaching for a bag, and Michael nearly ran.

It was the tattoo. The totality of his back was covered with a tattoo of a dragon. 

And the tattoo was... _wrong_. It was beautiful, easily the best skin art Michael had ever seen, in person. Dozens of perfectly shaded coils, hundreds of painstakingly reproduced scales, a beautifully rendering of iridescence on billowing wings, a soulful, yet malicious, reptilian eye. This tattoo didn’t go with the skinny low-level tweaker, with lumpen torn jeans and tatty t-shirts. This was countless hours with a master artist. Something was _wrong_.

But at the last moment he turned, several small, white pills in his hand. 

And she stayed.

“What are they?” she whispered.

“Fentanyl,” he purred.

Michael stepped back. “I’ve heard of that. That’s what killed all those people, when the heroin was laced with it.”

Luke laughed. “Only because there was too much. Too much of _anything_ will kill you, Dolly Bird. The dose makes the poison. _Always_. And this dose is perfectly safe. Look...”

He closed his eyes and licked his finger, lowered the moistened finger into his palm, and stuck the pill that stuck to it theatrically onto the middle of his tongue, and swallowed. “Safe as houses.”

Michael shuddered. “Yeah, all right. How much? And, how do I pay you?”

Luke smiled. “I accept several forms of payment, but that’s a discussion for later. First hit is free.”

Michael rolled her eyes. “Even in here? With a captive audience?”

“It’s tradition,” Luke purred and held out his hand. “Pick one.”

* * *

Crowley puttered around the house, checking things. B had, of course, arranged for the place to be professionally cleaned, and dressed, for the photographer, but there was only so much Crowley could bear.

A silver bowl of green apples? _Green_?!

He tossed them in a bucket, and made a mental note to chop them up for Zaira later. 

He also tossed the ostentatious David Austin roses- _where the fuck had they come from this time of year_? -and replaced them with some local wildflowers.

Then he went to wake Ari, who had declared the preparations, and indeed the whole concept, too much, and gone to have a nap.  
  


Crowley was grimly aware that he would send the photographer and interviewer packing, the second his Angel got overwhelmed. He only hoped B would be ready for that fallout, or that, by some miracle, the magazine was sending actual human beings, who would understand that sort of thing.

When he’d left Ari, he’d been napping normally, but now, he was curled up in the fetal position, head well off the pillow. On the pillow was Merry, in the paw-tucked, loaf-shaped posture of a highly self-satisfied cat.

“Just for that, I’m buying the kibble you don’t like,” Crowley growled. “And Pippen is getting smoked salmon for lunch, and you aren’t.”

Merry blinked with slow disinterest.

“Time to wake up, Angel,” Crowley said softly, touching Ari’s shoulder. “And, don’t let the cat steal your pillow.”

Ari’s eyelids fluttered, adorably - _fuck, this man was beautiful_ \- and he sat up carefully, thrown ever-so-slightly off balance by the cast. “Oh, I know my dear, but, he just, sort of, creeps up on me. And, it’s ever so lovely when he purrs on the bed. It vibrates right through the mattress springs, and is so soothing.”

Crowley sniffed. “I’ll get you a white noise machine. And a chair and a whip for this one.”

“Oh, don’t,” Ari murmured. “He doesn’t know you are joking. Oh, and I suppose it’s time, is it? You don’t suppose they’ll ask about...” he gestured to his cast.

“You don’t have to talk to them at all, if you don’t want to,” Crowley soothed. “And they’ve been specifically instructed not to ask about the arm. It’s a puff piece, Angel. Don’t do anything you aren’t comfortable with. They need us more than we need them.”

Ari frowned. “But B and Dana _do_ think this will help? With getting Enoch to... back off?”

Crowley nodded, as he helped Ari into a jacket that was large enough to fit over the cast, fussed with his lapels, and slipped some wildflowers into the buttonhole. “You look lovely. A vision. The perfect trophy husband.”

Ari rolled his eyes. “Oh, please.”

Crowley paused. He’d just said it, hadn’t he? He’d just said _husband_... maybe he should just suck it up, and...

“I suppose we are expected to feed them?” Ari continued, oblivious.

Crowley took a breath and said...

“There’s catering, it’s catered. Smoked Salmon and stuff.”

_ Damn it!  _

Merry, Crowley could swear to god, _smirked_ at him.

Crowley would be hanged before that rotten cat got any salmon.

“Ooh, yummy,” Ari said, happily, stroking the cat along the spine. “I’ll have to sneak you some, Merry. You’ll love it.”

Merry stretched and licked his own neck, giving Crowley an imperious glance.

“Damn Fleabag.”

* * *

Dana answered her phone without checking caller ID. She never did. She knew the voice of everyone worth talking to within three seconds. “Agon.”

“I’ve found her.”

It was the voice of one of the better private investigators she employed.

“Michael Kemp?”

“The same. She’s in rehab.”

_Rehab_.  
  


Dana felt a soft ringing in her mind, among the many catalogues of information she stored there. The type of ringing she never ignored. 

“Rehab, where?”

“Err.... Brixton. Place called Serenity Gateways.”

The ringing became an alarm bell.

She hung up on the PI, who wouldn’t care anyway, and flicked through the files on the phone. She was looking for a photo.

She found it. It was of Enoch Cryer and a tall, dark-haired man standing in front of an ordinary red brick wall with a mostly obscured sign. But the location tag added by the investigator said “Serenity Gateways [rehab center], Brixton”.

Dana dialled B. No answer.

Dana dialled B’s assistant. 

“They’re in a meeting.”

“Interrupt them!” Dana snarled back.

“More than my life’s worth,” the assistant replied. “They’ll kill me.” The assistant hung up.

“Wait until you see what I’ll do to you,” Dana muttered.

Dana dialled a third number.

* * *

Lord Hastur droned on, as only Lord Hastur could. B half listened, and half imagined slowly disemboweling him. So, a normal Tuesday.

Then, Eric burst through the door.

B blinked, astonished.

Eric slammed his phone in front of B. On its screen was a photo he’d received from Dana.

B’s eyes widened, and she ran out of the room, already dialing Serenity Gateways.

“I need to speak to Michael Kemp, now,” they demanded, of the squeaky voice who answered. “And I’m her emergency contact, so yes I am fucking allowed, before you get started.”

“I’m going to put you onto our director,” squeaky voice squeaked.

“I need to speak to _Michael_ ,” B shouted back, but only there was only hold music to hear her.

B felt her chest growing tight, heard Eric carefully walking up behind her.

“Is this Ms Prince?” a new voice said.

“Close enough,” B replied, her voice almost a whine.

“Ms Prince, I’m afraid I have some bad news...”

B threw the phone into the wall.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Victim blaming language.
> 
> Personal note: thank you for all the supportive comments left on the last chapter. I really appreciate it.

Crowley was magnificent. He had the journalist eating out of his hand, and, if Ari was honest with himself, he wasn’t too far behind.  For as well as Ari knew Crowley, knew it was a _show_ , it was all but impossible not to be taken in by it.  


  
Crowley shone, he sauntered, he bantered, he had opinions on granite, he described himself as autumnal without breaking character, he laughed, he charmed, he flirted.He was raced through Rodin sculptures,Klimt paintings, Dupain photography, and every few minutes, Ari felt the absurd urge to start applauding. 

“No, Julio! I can’t let that stand,” Crowley purred, leaning on the kitchen counter, with a guttural, open-mouthed laugh, just slightly curling his tongue. “I will fight anyone who says Fauvism is overrated! I will throw myself before the sword that slashes at the wild beasts of colour. Nothing like a Fauve! Can always find something to sink _Matisse_ into, with a Fauve.”

Watching from the living room, Ari became aware of clicking, and looked up to see the photographer, with her lens pointed right at him. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, my dear. Celeste, is it?” Ari apologised. “I must be blocking your view of the fireplace! Do let me get out of your way.”

“I was photographing you, actually,” the woman replied with a smile. “The look on your face while you were watching him. Photographers instincts. You see a moment in time like that, you snap. You looked like you were watching your first sunrise. I _will_ say he’s handsome, your chap, and he puts on a good show, doesn’t he?”

Ari smiled. “Well, it’s not _quite_ a show. Or rather, not _just_ a show. That’s really him, in a way. He can really do such amazing things. In another life, he could have been a Da Vinci, or a Plato, or...”

“Or a Caesar?” she suggested. 

Ari shook his head. “No, my dear. He’s far too gentle to be a Caesar. Too kind.”

“So, he didn’t break your arm, then?”

“What?” Ari stammered. “No, of course not... this was just a silly accident. Why would you think such a thing?!”

“Was only joking, wasn’t I?” the photographer replied, watching him oddly.

Ari exhaled. “Oh, of course you were. Do forgive me, dear. I’m not used to this sort of thing, and I’m rather nervous.” 

“S’alright. We don’t bite, though. I only want some pretty pictures.”

“As you say, my dear,” Ari replied graciously. “Do help yourself to those, although, if you wish to capture beauty, I can suggest no better than pointing your camera at Anthony.”

“Yeah, I got some of him while he was sort of twirling, and doing that thing with his sunglasses,” Celeste giggled. “To you want a quick peak?”

Ari watched as Celeste flicked some pictures through the small screen on the back of her camera. “You are quite the talent, as well, my dear. Certainly you’ve captured the essence of him, haven’t you?”

“Well, I’ve captured the dog-and-pony show he’s putting on,” Celeste agreed. “As for capturing his actual essence, that’s more your job than mine, now, isn’t it? If you take my meaning.”

Ari flinched.

“Oh, I’ve gone and offended you again, have I?” Celeste asked, and there was an edge to her voice now. “Awful sensitive, aren’t you? Best get a thicker skin, if you are in this for the long term, eh?”

“I’m sure you are right,” Ari replied, carefully. “Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

“Is everything alright over here?” Crowley asked, appearing at Ari’s elbow, with an edge in his voice as well. “You will have to excuse my Angel, the cottage was rather _MY_ baby, so I might be better suited to any questions.”

Celeste didn’t look at Crowley, though. Instead, she looked over his shoulder at the bemused Julio, walking up behind Crowley. _Check your email_ , she mouthed obviously.

Julio pulled out his phone.

Ari tried to catch Crowley’s eyes, but he was too busy glancing from Celeste to Julio, his expression of geniality melting from his face.

“Yeah okay,” Crowley said. “I’m sure you must have enough, so why don’t we just cut this...”

“I have _just_ a few more questions, Mr Crowley,” Julio said, eyes still frantically reading... something.  “I was wondering if you have any comment on Michael Kemp.”

“Michael Kemp?” Crowley replied in a tone suggesting he couldn’t quite place the name.

“The police officer,” Ari hissed. “From the... B’s friend...”

Ari felt himself step a little closer to Crowley, felt Crowley wrap his arms around him protectively. His chest started to feel heavy, and even his open shirt collar felt too tight around his neck.  


Celeste’s camera snapped aggressively in their faces.

“Okay, that’s it,” Crowley growled. “We’ve nothing more to say to you. Out now.”

“No comment at all?” Julio asked. “Not even condolences to her loved ones?”

_Condolences_...

”I said, that’s enough.” Crowley hissed.   
  


“What about you, Aziraphale? You want to comment? Thoughts and Prayers?”

Julio pressed forward, trying to force himself between Ari and Crowley.

Crowley snarled, and grabbing for Julio, but instead, accidentally caught Ari with his hip and knocked him off his feet.

Not ready, Ari failed to catch himself, and fell heavily, his cast bouncing forcefully off his temple.

A camera shutter snapped.

Julio straightened himself. “I also wondering how fair you think it is that accusers get anonymity, while Gabriel Bannerman, a decorated police officer, has his name posthumously dragged through the mud.”

Crowley blinked. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

  
A camera shutter snapped again.

” **GET OUT**!” Crowley screamed. He had something in his hand, Ari has just enough time to recognize a green apple, before Crowley threw it through a window.

Ari screamed without meaning to, as the glass shattered, and Crowley wielded around, his face alight with rage.

Ari’s head began to spin. He felt Crowley stalk away from him, heard him frogmarching the interlopers out of the house. But it sounded far away.

_Condolences_.

The word bounced around his head, in a strange, almost sing-song timbre, losing any meaning. Which was a blessing in itself.

  
_Condolences._

He felt wood against his cheek, and realised he was lying down, realised he was crying. He forced his eyes open, but could focus no further away than the little moisture-ghosts his breath was manifesting and disappearing on the floorboards.

  
_Condolences_

He’d killed her.

Enoch had, and so Ari had.

He heard, vaguely, Crowley running towards him, footfalls reverberating through the floor like thunder, Ari’s name on his lips.

Ari turned his face into the floor.

* * *

Ana cleaned her glasses again, not quite knowing what do to with her hands. “And... and I just say things. These awful things.”

“Why do you think you say them?”

Ana sighed. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need to be here, would I? I just do...”

“Give me an example.”

“Well,” Ana sighed. “I told my husband that his best friend was probably going to kill himself one day, and there wasn’t anything to be done about it. So... there’s that.”

“What were you feeling when you said that?”

Ana rolled her eyes. “Well, I felt awful, didn’t I? It was an awful thing to say, and to make things worse the friend, Ari, overheard me. And he’s not just Newt’s friend. He’s my friend. Almost family. _Is_ family, really. And, so yeah. Pretty fucking awful.”

“Ana, I think you’ve just told me how you felt _after_ you said those words. Can you tell me what you were feeling _when_ you said them? Or just before?”

“Oh... I see what you mean,” Ana paused. “I think I was feeling.... I was feeling frightened about the world, and... aren’t you going to yell at me for saying what I said?”

“Do you need me to? I think you’ve already decided you shouldn’t have said it. You were feeling frightened... for yourself?”

“I suppose. But for my family, too. For Newt. My pregnancy... for the... well, it feels stupid to call them _babies_...”

“Why does that feel stupid?”

“Because they might never be born! Because they’re not even IN the world yet, and already they have this mountain to climb. They could kill each other! Tangle up their cords, muck up their circulation, so one starves and one’s heart is flooded until it gives out.They could murder each other, before they are even born, and if that happens, it happens inside of ME. And Newt keeps acting like everything is going to be fine. And, it’s driving me crazy, because yes, if they die he loses them too, but it won’t happen INSIDE his body. He won’t know it first, but then have to tell _me_. He won’t have to pass their corpses through HiS cervix, now, will he?”

“You sound angry.”

“Yeah, that’s me! I’m angry at my sweet husband, for having the audacity to be happy we are having twins! I’m angry at him for daring to believe in his friend. Cause I’m suddenly a fucking _harpy_.”

“Feeling frightened and angry is a normal and human response to having your boundaries violated.”

“But you have to respond appropriately, and direct it toward the right person,” Ana replied bitterly. “ _Live your values_. I KNOW.”

“Why are you really angry at your husband, Ana?”

Ana sighed. “Because, he nearly died. And I should _actually_ be angry at the person who nearly killed him. He’s _dead,_ though. Maybe I should just go piss on his grave. Think that would help?”

“I don’t think I can recommend you do that. Do you think it would help, though?”

Ana shrugged. “Maybe. Feels like pissing is all I do these days, anyway. I wish I believed in Hell, sometimes. Doesn’t feel _right_ that he isn’t suffering. Doesn’t feel fair. Every time that Newt’s voice cracks, every time Ari flinches, every time it’s clear Crowley hasn’t slept a wink, I think about how that monster is at peace. How nothing can hurt him any more. And how it’s just not fucking _fair_.”

Newt was waiting for her outside, and she pulled him into a hug. She felt him try to pull out of it a few times, but she stubbornly refused to let go. 

Eventually, he kissed the top of her head. “Ana love, I’d like nothing more than to hold you forever. But... but something’s come up. We have to go to Crowley’s.”

Ana nodded grimly. She hadn’t really planned to show her face there, until she’d somehow found the time to produce the mother of all apology cakes, but, honestly, when was she supposed to find time for that? “What’s gone wrong now?”

Newt sighed tensely. “Well, a few things, actually, love. That interview thing for the house was today, and... it went south at the end because... well...”

Newt held up this phone. It was a newspaper article for one of the sleazier London tabloids. Ana read the headline.

Second police officer linked to Oxfordshire sex scandal dies 

“Goddamn supporatingsyphilitic vulture dicks!” Ana swore loudly, earning herself some glares from passers by.

Newt ejected something akin to an exhausted laugh. “Never seems to end, does it?”

“Sex scandal?! _Sex scandal_?! How fucking _dare_ they? Ari was in hospital for weeks. He needed three fucking surgeries. Sex scandal? Squalid little jumped-up gossip column. Is it too much to hope that it’s that Enoch who’s dead?”

Newt sighed. “I’m afraid so, love. It’s Michael Kemp, the woman who happened upon... who saved them. She died this morning. And, she was B’s friend, and so Crowley needs to go to London, but he can’t leave Ari alone, because he’s a mess, so I’m afraid we’ve been called up. I suppose I could go alone, if you’d rather, but...”

“No,” Ana sighed. “I don’t want to be alone tonight, either. And, I want to help if I can. If he’ll let me.”

Newt pulled her against his chest. “Oh lovely, you know he’ll forgive you. He just needed a minute. Remember, there was a lot going on that day.”

“There’s a life going on today, apparently,” Ana replied, miserably. “But yeah. Course he’ll forgive me. The man lived with a man who beat and raped him, for nineteen fucking years. He could win an Olympic gold medal for forgiveness. I’m not sure I want to take advantage of that.”

“You aren’t, Ana. It’s not close to the same thing. Come on, it’ll be alright, you’ll see. What did you talk about in therapy, by the way?”

“We talked about how your eternal optimism is driving me to the brink of sanity.”

Newt chuckled. “Did I deserve that? It doesn’t really feel like I deserved that.”

* * *

  
Someone was knocking.

B ignored it.

Someone _kept_ knocking.

”B, open the door.”

Someone was Crowley.

_Fuck_.

B walked over to the door, resentful they could manage it. Turns out, every so often, being able to hold your liquor, just. fucking. _sucked_.

B pulled open the door. “Go home, Crowley. Go back to fucking... _whatzit_... Care-a-lot... Tadfield. Go back to fucking Tadfield.”

  
Crowley looked grey. “I... am not sure I _can_ go back, actually... I lost it back there... I... it doesn’t matter.”

B shrugged. “Don’t need to be here, though. God knows, you can afford a hotel room.”

”You shouldn’t be alone, B,” Crowley said tiredly. “I guess I should have brought a casserole or something. But I’m trying to do what people do...I’ll buy you a casserole. I’ll get one delivered. Do you want a casserole?”

B clenched their teeth. “No, I don’t want a fucking casserole, Crowley! I don’t eat fucking casserole. I want to go back in time, and let you talk me into murdering the bastard for you.”

Crowley frowned. “What? Cryer? Why? I mean I applaud the sentiment, but.. what’s Cryer got to do with?”

“Oh yeah... forgot. You don’t know.”

B turned and walked back into the flat, in search of the new phone Eric had bought, and loaded B’s life onto. Because the last one had broken against a wall, and _heavens forfend_ their fucking clients do without them for an evening, just because Michael was...  
  


B turned to see that Crowley had invited himself in.

”Here, look,” they showed him the photo. “That’s Cryer, the wall is the rehab centre where Michael was staying, and the tall guy with the cheek bones? He’s the man that sold Michael fentanyl this morning. So, yeah. You were right Crowls! You told me, and I didn’t listen, and here we are. Well done, you.”

Crowley stared at the photo. “Oh fuck. I didn’t know. I thought she just died, B, I didn’t know it was...”

B sighed. “Didn’t know it was what, Crowls? Cause I don’t know what this is either. Except that she’s dead, and he did it. OD? Suicide? Murder? Maybe it doesn’t even fucking matter. Except that now it’s war. Dana’s already doing her thing, her Dana thing, and I wish that was enough...Rumours will get back to all Cryer’s friends that he fucked their wives, or daughters, in the 80’s. All those QUANGOs and board memberships will start to disappear, before his eyes. His council rates will go up 5% more than average every year. His favourite wine will always be out of stock. His goddamn roses will be plagued by aphids. His tyres will mysteriously go flat, and his power will go out every time it rains. Because Dana’s gonna Dana. But, it isn’t enough. No amount of little annoyances will ever be enough, will it? Because it will never add up to Michael...”

Crowley slowly opened his arms and B stepped into them and cried against his chest. Cried like they hadn’t cried in years. 

”You loved her,” Crowley said. His voice sounded thin. Almost sick.

B poked at their sodden eyes with their finger tips. “I... I don’t know Crowls. But... I know, if I’ve ever loved anyone, it was her...You should marry your boyfriend Crowley, if that’s your mutual kink. Don’t let people... don’t let people _drift_.”

”I nearly asked him,” Crowley replied, hollowly. “Just this morning. I almost said it. But...we got distracted, by fucking smoked salmon, and then... I raged out at the journalists. Frightened him. Turned in to just the sort of monster that he’s always running from. I’m not sure I can come back from that.”

  
B shook her head. ”You’re a fucking coward, Anthony Crowley. I saw my girl on a metal slab today. There’s no coming back from _that_. You...You could at least fucking _try_. But, if you won’t do that, then at least shut your stupid, coward mouth, so we can get drunk in peace.”

Crowley shut up and they drank.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: An anti-sex worker slur. 
> 
> Self harm, cutting.

Ana woke in the unfamiliar room, and, when she reached across the bed for Newt, her fingers only touched wrinkled sheets. _Nice_ sheets. Much nicer than hers. _Fuck_. She was at Crowley’s, and it wasn’t Newt that was missing from the bed- Newt was on the sofa- it was, much more alarmingly, Ari.  
  


Unfortunately, neither her bladder, nor her morning sickness, were making any allowances for the circumstances, so she staggered into the en-suite, calculating which use to put the toilet to first, and settling for a highly undignified combination.  
  


 _Don’t panic_ , she told herself, over and over, as she quickly made herself presentable. _Don’t panic. Don’t panic. People get water. People get insomnia. This is fine. It’s **fine**._

She caught sight of him quickly, once she was able to look.

  
He was in the kitchen. He had the lamp from his phone turned on, and was holding the phone in his mouth, trying to do something with his cast-hindered hand.

  
“Ari?”  
  


She sighed, and she could see, rather than hear, that he’d been crying. He also stopped whatever he was doing. Waiting for her.

  
She stepped closer.  
  


“I was trying not to wake Newt,” Ari whispered, taking the phone from his mouth, still using the broken arm, and switching off the lamp.

As if that explained everything. As if it was the use of the phone for light that was wrong here.  
  


Ana made out a first aid kit on the counter, and that tore it. She flicked on the light.

  
Newt, over on the other side of the open-concept space, on the sofa, merely muttered something incomprehensible, and rolled over, turning his face into the sofa-back.  
  


Ana smiled thinly. “What are you doing, Ari?”

  
She knew already.  
  


He had kitchen roll sticking to his left wrist. Blooms of bright red blood showed.

Ari didn’t answer her. He flushed, as if _embarrassed_ of all things, lowering his eyes.  
  


“Will you let me see?”  
  


Ari pulled the arm protectively to his chest. But Ana was tracking the speed at which blood wicked through the kitchen roll and decided she couldn’t leave it.  
  


“I _need_ to see,” she said firmly.

With a strange ragged sob, he stretched out the arm to her. Ana picked at the kitchen roll, carefully. Touching it, without gloves, triggered some deep-seated feeling of disgust. Images of dying men filled her mind, gay men, thin, pneumonia, covered in sores. Kaposi’s sarcoma.

_Stop it, you bitch_ , she ordered her lizard brain. It didn’t listen.

The cuts weren’t deep in most places, whatever he’d used had gone blunt quickly. But, the cuts formed the word ‘ _Whore’ ,_ along his wrist, in clumsy letters.

“Oh, Ari...” Ana sighed. “What were you _thinking_? How deep were you trying to cut?”

Ari’s eyes were tightly closed. “I... I wasn’t trying to die,” he insisted, immediately. Delayed, softer, he continued.. “But... but I wanted it to scar...”

“ _Why_?!”  
  


“I don’t know. I don’t _KNOW_ why. Maybe, it’s just that I’ve never got anyone killed, before. That’s an occasion worth marking! Maybe it’s because it just true... it just _should_ be there..”

  
Ana wanted to cry. “No, sweetheart. It _shouldn’t_ be there. And, it _isn’t_ true. I don’t think it will scar, mostly. Some _bits_ will, but I don’t think it will be readable, for what it’s worth. We need to clean this up properly, though. I’ve got some wound closure strips in the first-aid kit in the car...it looks like you’re out of them.”

Ari shook his head. “I can’t send you outside, in the cold, and I can’t... It will wait til morning at least.

Ana paused. “Ari... are you comfortable leaving the house at all? Even to the driveway, say? Watering the plants by the door?”

“Not really, no.” Ari sighed. “I... I miss Selene and Zaira. I haven’t been to the barn since... since I was arrested. I set out too... but... I just don’t feel safe outside the house. I know it’s silly... but... I don’t. And today.... today, I failed Anthony. He needed me to go to London with him, because he needed to go for his friend, and I couldn’t do it.”

Ana shook her head. “I feel awful for B. She’s not my favourite person, but... still I do. That said, Anthony should have stayed here with you. I don’t like the way he blew out of here...”

“You can hardly blame him,” Ari interrupted quickly. “B suffered a real loss , all that happened to me is that some strangers hurt my feelings... And, that I got somebody killed, and then turned around and made it about me. I’m probably lucky all he did was walk out.”

“Sweetheart, _don’t_. You don’t know that Michael’s death had anything to do with you. And, even if it somehow did, that doesn’t make it your fault. I’ve never seen you so much as squash a spider.”

Ari shook his head. “It was Enoch. I know it was. You know what’s funny? This all happened because Enoch mistook me for a better man than I am. I had no intention of doing anything about his... _whatever_ it was. I wasn’t going to try to blow any whistles, or help anyone he has hurting. He could have just left me alone, and I wouldn’t have lifted a finger against him. I wasn’t thinking about _anyone_ but myself. I just wanted to get away. And now, a lovely, beloved, heroic woman is dead, because a monster mistook _me_ for a decent man.”

Ana very carefully pulled him into a hug. “Oh my god, the stories you tell yourself. Ari, I could rip out my own tongue, for calling you broken, the other day. I won’t flatter myself that my fat mouth is more than a drop in the bucket, but I hate that I’ve played the slightest part in this. I love you, Ari, and if you aren’t a decent man, then I doubt I’ve met one.”

“There is Newt, my dear,” Ari chided, gently.

“Oh good,” Newt muttered from the couch. “I was wondering if I’d crack a mention.”

“Oh no, Ari,” Ana replied drily. “We’ve been discovered. Gasp! Fetch the fainting couch.”

Newt rolled over. “Just for that, I’m making tea and you aren’t getting any.”

“Good!” Ana grumbled. “It’s three in the morning.”

Newt peeled open his eyes. “Cocoa then.”

“Oh... _damn_!” Ana answered with accidental honesty. “I actually really do want cocoa. Right, Newt, get the first-aid kit from the car, and then make cocoa, I’ll fix up Ari’s arm, and then I’m calling Anthony. Ari, you just sit down and... de-fuse...? Thought audit...? Are you doing CBT or ACT, I can’t remember...? Whichever. Do that.”

Ari shook his head fiercely. “Ana, please don’t call Crowley... his friend needs him. And, he leaves me for five minutes, and I do this...? He’ll think I’m trying to manipulate him, or something... and B deserves...”

“Stop,” Ana interrupted, as gently as she could. “No one thinks that. No one thinks this was a _scheme_. For one thing, if it were, you wouldn’t have been stuffing around with plasters, with your phone in your mouth, would you? I’m calling Crowley, same as I’d call you, if he were having a crisis, in the middle of the night, and that’s final.”

* * *

Crowley pulled into the driveway, at shortly before five am.

He wasn’t sure if he’d been irrationally expecting crime tape, ambulances, flashing lights, but, for some reason, the sight of the cottage, peaceful and still, bathed in the purpled grey of the predawn, squeezed his heart painfully.

_Get your skinny ass back here_ , Ana had hissed, when he’d answered his phone.

Crowley had protested, of course. B was his friend. B had needed him.

Ana had been unimpressed. _If it were his liver or his heart trying to kill him, rather than his mind, then you wouldn’t go swanning off to London in the middle of a health crisis. Ari isn’t broken, but he is ill. He has a disease which kills people, Crowley. You have a chronically ill partner. Now are you in this, or are you not?_

  
Crowley still honestly couldn’t tell if she was right or not.

  
He became aware that he was just _sitting_ in his car, in his driveway, almost crying, and he wasn’t actually how sure how long he’d been sitting. Surely only a few minutes, but...

“Shift yourself, Crowley,” he growled at himself.

  
He grabbed the two shopping bags off the passenger seat, and opened the car door.

The soft overture of a proper dawn chorus was starting up. His expensive, imported gravel crunched beneath his boot heel. The shopping bags brushed against his trousers. They contained every plaster, bandage and wound dressing that the all-night pharmacy had on its shelves. This, he knew perfectly well, was overkill. But it made him feel better. And the clerk would get a good story out of it, he supposed. Maybe even a magazine feature.

  
He stopped by the front door, his finger tips tracing the grain of the oak. The window he’d broken had been fitted with a clear, untainted pane of glass. Newt must have sweet-talked a glazier into coming out for a temporary fix, while a new panel was sourced. “This man I pay minimum wage,” Crowley muttered.

  
It was beautiful, this front door. Recycled timber, beautifully restored, each panel aligned and pattern matched. Handmade wrought iron fixtures. Crafted. A thing of beauty.

  
Crowley fucking loved this front door.

  
Loved this cottage.

  
Loved the life- the family, the future- he’d built it to hold.

  
He leaned forward, his soul aching, and the door took his weight, through his forehead, through his cheek. His eyes were moist.

  
Were he a different man he might pray, although to what, and for what, he was not entirely sure.

  
He opened the door.

  
Soft music was playing. _Mahler_? He couldn’t tell.

  
Three mugs were clustered on the kitchen island, the aroma- and the cat forcing its face into one- suggested cocoa, made from milk.

Ana was sleeping against Newt’s chest, on the sofa. Ari sat in the armchair, he and Newt watching each other and listening- to Satie! _It’s fucking Satie- Mahler? Mahler?!_ He was losing it.

  
The shopping bags slipped from Crowley’s fingers, and fell to the ground. A crepe bandage or two rolled out, and the cat, the one _not_ spelunking for cocoa, appeared from nowhere, and raced off in hot pursuit after the more ostensibly sprightly bandage.

“I thought this was Mahler. When I walked in,” Crowley said, his voice all itchy and desperate. “I’m losing it.”

Newt smiled at him, kindly, and jostled his wife’s shoulder. “Time to go, Ahn.”

Ana’s rolled her head sleepily, and blinked at Crowley. “Yeah, okay,” she said. “Good.”

They were gone quickly, before Crowley found it necessary to move. He and Ari just looked at each other.

  
Reading, misreading, and over-reading each other’s faces.

As the front door clicked shut, Crowley’s legs gave way, the timing almost comical, as if the breeze from the door had blown him to his knees.

“Angel...” he whispered. He had no idea what words were to follow. The word had no tense, no punctuation. It stated no fact, it asked no question. Just... just... _Angel_.

“I’m so sorry,” Ari replied, and the apology just fluttered around Crowley’s mind uselessly, with no act or grievance to attach itself to.

“B was sad,” Crowley said, at last. “So angry, and so sad. Regretful. I’ve never seen her like that. Well, I have. She _looked_ how she always looks. But, I haven’t seen her like that, on the inside. Howling.”

Ari started to cry. Silently. Pale.

“And, this is all wrong,” Crowley said. “This is supposed to be happy and bombastic. Pomp, larger than life. Silly. You know me. But, I can’t. I can’t not tell you. It’s all wrong, and it’s ugly, instead of beautiful, it’s bleak instead of sunshine. It’s anger and it’s pain and it’s fear. But it’s true. It’s raw. I love you. And, I’ll never not love you. And you are half my soul. And I want you to marry me.”

  
Ari cried harder.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Reference to self harm from previous chapter. Trauma-based reactions.

_Oh, why now?_ Ari thought miserably.

_Why did he pick now, of all moments, to make me say no to the thing I want more than anything else?_

_How am I supposed to summon the will to not be selfish, now?_

He couldn’t find the words. He couldn’t even _start_. So, he just sobbed harder, hoped Crowley would get the message, hoped that, _just this once,_ the firm social convention that proposals had to be answered with some sort of actual _communication,_ didn’t apply.

  
But, Crowley didn’t seem to understand. He didn’t act like a man who had been shocked to his senses, he acted like a man still in love. He stood and moved to Ari, stroked his tears, collecting tears with his fingers as if to just erase them.

  
“Oh Angel. My poor Angel,” he whispered. “It’s all okay. I’m going to fix everything, I promise. I’m going to keep you safe, and happy, and you’ll have everything you need, everything you want forever. I promise I’ll love you, forever.”  


_I want to say yes_ , Ari howled into his own mind.

One syllable. He was one syllable away from having this beautiful, perfect man, sacrifice his whole future for him.

Broken window or not, Crowley would never hurt him, and he was a man of his word. Over the years, Ari would only get older, uglier, fatter, and soon, inevitably, Crowley would begin to resent all the inequities of the relationship. Everything Ari couldn’t do. Couldn’t _be_. But, Crowley was a man of his word, and would never abandon him, would never hurt him, would always try to not to let it show.

And Ari would have everything. The man he loved so much. 

All he had to do was be selfish, and say one syllable. To give the true answer of his heart.

The temptation was _unbearable_.

More than he’d ever wanted anything, he wanted to say yes...

... and he didn’t have the strength to say no. To catalogue his faults. To explain, again, how he would never be good enough. To fight against Crowley’s protestations, to rip off his sunglasses and force him to stare into the glaring truth.

Crowley was kissing him now, gently, tiny desperate kisses along his cheeks... the silence was stretching... the future still unanswered.

Ari kissed him back. It was no hardship. Crowley was so beautiful, his skin felt like nothing else felt. Warm, soft and soul-sweet. And suddenly, Ari was so hungry for whatever strange sustenance it was that touching Crowley provided. Hungry like he’d never be sated.

  
And maybe _that_ was the answer, the third way.

Maybe he _could_ do it, after all. Maybe instead of breaking Crowley’s heart, instead of trapping him in the amber of Ari’s own despair forever, may he could just... _do_ it.

Give Crowley what he needed. Just _not_ scream, just _not_ run. Maybe, if he could envelop Crowley within him, and not _visibly_ break, then he could say yes. 

“I want you,” he managed to stammer out.

He knew, at once, that Crowley had misunderstood, had taken this as an answer to a different question. He knew from the way his face flared with uncomplicated joy.

So, there was no turning back now, he had to at least _try_.  
  


He lead Crowley to the bedroom. Ari had no experience as a sexual aggressor, and it became clear how clumsy he was at it, when Crowley set about readying them for sleep. They hadn’t slept properly, he supposed. Either of them. So it was an understandable mistake. Still, it was unacceptable. This had to be determined now. 

_Fixed_ _now!_

He caught Crowley’s chin and kissed him again, pouring desire and desperation into it. 

Crowley responded with a low, chuckling growl. “God, I love kissing you. Love kissing my fiancé. Love kissing _you_ , my fiancé. I love _calling_ you my fiancé too. I love calling Ari my fiancé, and I love kissing my fiancé Ari. Who I love, and love kissing, cause he’s lovely and lovely at kissing. I could do this all day.”

_So beautiful, his Crowley,_ Ari sighed. _So sweet and earnest, with his beautiful, honey eyes._

Ari resolved again that he would not trap him, would not bind him in chains made of his own hope, until his beautiful light was extinguished. It would be unthinkable. _Sacrilegious_.

_He had to do this._

“I want you,” he growled back, forcefully.

Crowley giggled. “Oh that’s sexy. You are sexy. You’re my sexy fiancé. My sexy fiancé says sexy things, when I kiss him, and I love kissing my sexy fiancé, and... seriously, you should try saying it, it’s fun.”

“I think we should try something else,” Ari interrupted, sliding his arms around Crowley’s hip. The right hand, confined in plaster, was awkward, the left hand’s movements triggered spikes of pain from his wrist up his arm.

_Keep going._

Crowley blinked slowly, his breath catching. He was getting aroused, and was trying to hide it.

_Keep going._

Ari nuzzled his neck, with soft moist kisses, and a soft whine escaped Crowley.

“Actually, I think I might, take a shower, actually, before we.. go to bed...I mean, get some sleep,” Crowley stuttered stepping away, while, cupping the back of Ari’s head with his hand.

_Keep going!_

“Perfect,” Ari replied. “I’ll join you. Get slippery...”

“-ahhh. Angel... I... what’s this about? You don’t have to do this. I didn’t ask you to marry me in order to get laid. You don’t have to...”

“Of course, I don’t _have_ to,” Ari lied hurriedly. “But I _want_ to. I want you.”

“Angel, I don’t know,” Crowley replied, softly. “We’ve both had such a huge day. I’m just worried about you making this sort of decision...”

“But, that’s silly,” Ari tried to make himself purr, “You asked me to marry you, if I can decide _that_ I can decide to let you... make love to me.”

“But...”

Ari licked his own lips, it felt grotesque. “Yes, indeed. If you please.” He caught Crowley’s hand and placed it firmly against his own arse.

“ _Ari_!” Crowley exclaimed. Stepping back, eyes widening.

_Keep going!!!_

“I want this. I want you. Please trust me,“ Ari implored. He could feel his eyes starting to sting. Tears wouldn’t do. He’d need to think of a plausible excuse to close the curtains, to lower the lights...

Crowley sighed, heavily. “Oh, Angel. I would trust you with my life. But, trust you to put your well-being ahead of what you think I want...?”

“I can do this,” Ari insisted, even as he started to cry again. “I _can_.”

Crowley stepped close again. Hugged him. “Ari, listen to me. It doesn’t matter whether you _can_. I would dive headfirst into a volcano for you, but I _will not_ penetrate you sexually, in any fashion, under any circumstances, until you understand- _until you understand bone deep_ \- that you do not have to. I cannot... I _will not_ risk hurting you that way.”

“But, I can’t share you!” Ari exclaimed suddenly. “I know that before I said... that it was an option. But, not if we are married. It... means something to me, Anthony. Maybe that’s stupid, I mean, what have traditional values ever done, but hurt me? But, it _does_ mean something to me _._ I think I could manage, if my boyfriend had to... look elsewhere, occasionally... but... not my husband. I can’t share my husband. I know it’s stupid, but...”

“But, you won’t have to,” Crowley replied, smiling incredulously. “I keep telling you. I know we are still working things out, working towards something we don’t know the full shape of, yet. But, whatever shape it takes, _that’s_ what I want. Because, it’s with _you_.”

“But, what if it’s _never?_ ” Ari sighed. “What if I can’t, _ever?_ Never mind psychologically. What if I never can physically? There’s scarring.. I don’t know...”

Crowley exhaled, and held him more tightly. “Come here. _Listen to me_. Your arms around me, my head on your chest, my ear right over your heart? That’s my _home_ , Ari. That’s the most myself I have ever felt. I could never be touched by human hands, in any other way, _ever again_ , and still be perfectly happy. If it’s never, then, it’s never. And, I will be perfectly happy, and in love with you. You are already good enough,!and you always have been. Please trust me. Have faith in me. Cause I’ve never believed in anything, like I believe in us.”

Ari sobbed into Crowley’s shoulder.

“Okay, Angel. Enough of this, now. You need to sleep. And I’m going to lie down with you, and hold you, while you do, okay?” Crowley gently pulled Ari down onto the bed, and packed him in with every available blanket and pillow, and wound his sinewy arms around him. “Sleep now, Angel. Everything’s okay.”

* * *

Crowley didn’t sleep. He felt strange. Happy and afraid and exhausted.

He squeezed his sleeping fiancé, a little tighter.

_It’s going to be okay, my love. We are going to be okay. I refuse to entertain any other scenario. I am going to fix everything._

He hissed when his phone rang, vibrating on the nightstand, threatening to wake Ari. He snatched at the phone, intending to hang up, but froze when he saw it was Dana Agon calling. With a sinking feeling, he answered.

“Hello, Dana? Is B okay? What’s happening?”

_“They’re fine Crowley. Eric’s there. He’s texting me updates. We have them. That’s why I’m calling, actually. B wants me to take point on your situation.”_

“My situation..?”

_ “You and your boyfriend vs Enoch Cryer, basically.” _

“Fiancé,” Crowley interrupted. “We’re engaged. We got engaged and Ari is my fiancé now.”

_ “Huh. Weird timing, but sure. Basically, the lifestyle magazine is a lost cause, but good news is, it’s a magazine. Honest-to-god print media, which means we have a little time.” _

“Time for...?”

_ “Time to get ahead of it. Time to change strategy completely. B’s strategy was middle-of-the-road. Make you seem aspirational, and non-threatening. Pretty, happy couple, in a pretty, happy house, and, kindly overlook the gay in this year-of-our-lord 2020. That’s not going to work, right now. Not against the law-and-order types. We go left, and we go hard. And I’m sorry, but it’s all out. No more anonymity. We put your names to the Gabriel Bannerman business, we tell the story of Ari’s arrest. Full LGBT, Full ACAB. And we aren’t talking to anyone to the right of the Guardian. I know you hate to politicize your shit, and I sympathize, but that’s the play.” _

Crowley laughed wheezily. “Dana, you cannot be serious. Journalists tore Ari to shreds yesterday, he carved into his wrist THIS MORNING. You want to toss him into the middle of a culture war?”

_“You’re in a culture war already Crowley. You are just fashionably late in noticing it. Ari’s going to be okay. He’s tougher than you think. We are talking handpicked, victim-friendly journalists, filmed interview. They will be there tomorrow, at 11am.”_

Crowley blinked. “They will not. Dana, this is not an unacceptable timetable. I realise there can be some fall out from the magazine thing, but Ari’s well-being is my first priority and...”

_“Crowley, it’s my first priority too”,_ Dana interrupted firmly _. “And now, I need you to listen to me, very closely, and not ask any questions. Tomorrow between 11am and 3pm there will be video evidence, and two independent witnesses of you, Ari, me, B, and Eric being in Oxfordshire, and definitely not in London. Hell, invite Pulsifer and Device over, as well. Video evidence of us all responding, in a very particular way, in Oxfordshire, and not in an entirely different way, in London, between 11 and 3 tomorrow. Do you understand me?”_

Crowley’s mouth went dry. “Yes, I think so.”

_“No one likes that things have come to this, Crowley. But B and I have talked it over, and we’re in agreement that this is the only way forward. We will see all of you tomorrow. Between 11 and 3.”_

“Okay,” Crowley replied softly, stroking Ari’s hair. “Let’s do it.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: References to past violence, past sexualised violence, past injuries, self harm and cutting.

Ana didn’t think she’d ever been quite so angry in her life. 

“What the _fuck_ is he playing at?” she shouted, again.

Newt clicked his tongue, unhappily. “Well, we can ask when we get there, I suppose. This is not my _favourite_ idea, ever, I have to admit. But, I mean, we have to go, if this is happening, we should be there...”

“Oh this is not happening,” Ana hissed. “I am not letting Ari do this.”

Newt sighed tightly. “I mean, it is his decision, though...”

“He is not in the right frame of mind to make this sort of decision. He’d jump off a cliff if Crowley asked him to, and this might not be far off it. Of all the stupid, reckless...”

“You will try not to make a scene ON camera, though, love? Won’t you?”

Ana sniffed. “I will make as many goddamn scenes as necessary.”

Newt nodded uncomfortably, and stopped talking, and Ana felt a pang of remorse. Her poor Newt so hated conflict. 

The best Ana found she could do, was not shout at Crowley, when he answered the door, settling for a glare and stalking past him in search of Ari.

He was sitting in the bedroom, dressed already, in a navy tweed blazer over a softer blue, and staring into the middle distance.

“Ari, sweetheart, are you okay?”

He turned and smiled at her, eyes flat. “Oh, hello, Ana dear. Thank you for coming. I’m quite all right, and I wanted to apologise for the _fuss_ the other night. And... the _mess_.”

“Never mind the other night,” Ana replied, sitting down beside him. “Ari, don’t do this interview. Don’t sign away your anonymity. Don’t do any of this. Just tell him no.”

Ari shook his head. “Oh, but I must... I said I would. Anthony asked me to. He said it was so important, and.. and we’re getting married. And... and people do this. They stand up... and are brave. And Michael... Michael risked her life for me, and she died, and I can’t change that. I can’t trade with her... but, I can stand up for her. I can tell the truth...”

“Ari, no. Michael is dead. She’s... she can’t be hurt by this any more. You... you _can_ be. You need to think about yourself now... and... sorry, did you say getting married?”

Ari nodded. “Crowley asked me yesterday. Right after you left. And I...we’re getting married.”

Ana smiled gently. “Okay, sweetheart. Just... just stay here... I’m not done... I just have to go filet someone. Excuse me.”

Crowley was talking to Newt, with a soft smile on his face, and did not see Ana until she had already slammed both arms into his chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Crowley’s eyes flashed, for a moment, but she saw him pull himself back under control. “Ana listen, about the interview. I know it seems like bad timing....”

“Oh, fuck the timing! We’ll talk about how insensitively you’ve scheduled this fucking thing later. A _proposal_?! That’s the carrot you used to make him do this? That’s fucking cold, Crowley.”

Crowley blinked. “That’s not what happened, Ana. That’s not what happened at all...”

“Do you even plan to go through with it? Once he’s painfully strung out his soul for the circus? Once your reputation’s been salvaged, and your board seats are saved, and your share prices have been stabilized? And Ari’s retreated to the bathroom to carve himself up again? Are you even going to marry him?”

Crowley’s eyes burned. “Of course I am. And, how _dare_ you?”

“Oh, are you sure?” Ana spat. “It would be pretty easy to get out of it. I mean he can’t even leave the house, can he? How is he supposed to make a wedding?”

“I think we should take this outside,” Crowley glared.

“Oh, steady on,” Newt interrupted. “I can’t believe I have to say this, but, no punching each other!”

“Because I’m pregnant?” Ana sneered. “Cause, by my count, that just makes it three against one.”

Newt threw up his hands. “No! Because... because... no hitting! _And_ because you are pregnant! _And_ because there are cars full of journalists and lawyers bearing down on us. _And_ because I said so! Both of you just _stop_!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Newt, I’m not going to hit her,” Crowley shouted. “I’m just going to level a few home truths. What do you say, Device? Do you want to step outside, and find out what’s really going on? Because, you? You, I’ll tell. Or you can live in ignorance and just _trust_ me.”

“What’s really going on?” Newt asked.

“Never mind,” Crowley said. “Least said, soonest mended. Now, I hate this thing too, but it _is_ happening. And, we will all be better off for it. You don’t have to stay, Ana, but I strongly recommend that you do.”

Ana jutted our her chin “I’m staying to protect Ari, and I _will_ wave my qualifications around to stop this thing, if it gets out of hand.”

“Good,” Crowley replied. “If it gets out of hand, I want it stopped.”

“Well... good.”

“Right.”

“Fine.”

* * *

_ What is really going on? _

The thought bounced around Newt’s head, as the day’s proceedings began, in earnest.

The car with Dana, B and Eric arrived first. They all appeared subdued; Dana watchful, her eyes constantly darting to her phone, B’s mouth set in a thin straight line. Even Eric was less ebullient than usual, although he still hugged everybody on arrival, and made a special point tell Ari that he looked pretty in blue.

“I’m... I’m sorry about Michael,” Newt whispered to B, when he got a quiet moment.

They regarded him shrewdly for a moment. “Yeah, and you mean it too. I’m sorry as well, Care Bear. Believe me.”

The journalist and cameraman arrived next. The camera man, Bruno, was quiet but jolly, with thick, floppy hair somewhere between sandy and ginger. He seemed mostly concerned with locating a suitable power outlet for a key light. 

The journalist, Moira, was six foot three, with a shaved head, and with eyebrows that were both exquisitely sculpted and dyed teal. Newt liked her immediately.

“I wanted to thank you,” Moira said to Crowley, in a low voice. “For giving this to us. I know you could have gotten paid a bundle for this, if you’d done it through a network.”

Crowley shook his head. “It’s not about money. I needed people that I could trust to be _people_. We had a bad experience very recently.”

“Dana told me,” Moira replied. “She and I go back a long way. I slept in her spare room, for four months, after the bio-fam kicked me out. I am a professional, and I have a job to do, but I have no intention of being anything less than _people_.”

Crowley smiled. “Dana takes in strays, does she? Isn’t that something? I wish Ari had had a Dana. His life might have gone so differently.”

“He’s got a Dana now,” Moria replied. “And a Moira, for what that’s worth.” 

“Well, I hope it’s worth a lot, actually,” Crowley replied, his voice sounding strangled. “Please be kind to him, Moira. I am actually, honest to god, begging you. Please.”

Moira patted his arm gently. “I know this is rough. Believe me, I know. I’ve been there. Or, you know, somewhere similar.”

“Well, I wish that weren’t true,” Crowley replied. “But, at the same time....”

Moira nodded. “Yeah, I get it.”

Moira and Bruno set about dressing two different interview spaces in the room, while Dana placed a camcorder running on the kitchen island, angled over the whole living area. Both Bruno and Moria glanced at it, but said nothing, leaving Newt to assume that this had been arranged and agreed to before hand.

“Good to have a tape of the full thing,” Dana said, with a shrug, after noting Newt’s interest in the camcorder. “In case anything gets taken out of context, we can put it back in context, if we need to.”

“I was rather hoping I’d avoid getting filmed at all,” Newt replied, lightly. 

“Wouldn’t count on it, Care Bear. You are up to be interviewed right after Ari.”

Newt blinked. “But what do they want to talk to me for?”

“Fucker nearly killed you too.”

Before Newt could reply, the mood in the room somewhat shifted. Lighting and sound checks had been completed, and Ari was shepherded onto the left side of the lounge, looking rather like a man headed to his own execution.

More sound, and light and test shots were done.

Then Moira began. “Let’s start with some softballs, yeah? We stopped by your library on the way here. It’s lovely! I heard you designed it. Tell me a little about that.”

Moira, it turned out, was good at her job, Steadily and carefully, she lead Ari through Elijah, leaving London, meeting Crowley, what he remembered of Michael. Soon all that was left was the Oxford arrest, and Gabriel Bannerman.

“You were arrested last week,” Moira was saying. Can you tell us what that was like for you.”

Ari sighed, and lowered his eyes. “Um, yes. I was visiting the library. Ana had asked for my help getting some medical information, and as I was leaving, some officers approached me. They said that they suspected me of selling stimulants to the students... but then they mentioned the name of Elijah and Gabriel’s boss... and I realised that they knew who I was, and I got this thought in my head that maybe they wished me ill... and I’m afraid I didn’t comport myself with much dignity.”

“Ari, are you aware that two bystander videos of your arrest have been shared on the internet?”

Ari blinked. “I... no... I had no idea.”

“So, you haven’t seen the footage? The people who shared it told me that they did so because they were upset by how you were treated. That the police were unnecessarily violent, andalso, that the pre-arrest search they performed was unnecessarily sexualised.”

“I.... I haven’t seen the video,” Ari stammered back.

“Would you like to take a break to watch it now, or would you like to move on?” 

“Can we move on, please?” Ari replied. He sounded tired. 

Newt tried to catch Crowley’s eye, but Crowley was staring at his phone. Newt would be prepared to bet he was looking for this video.

Dana was avoiding Newt’s eyes as well.

“Yes, let’s move on. I know this is hard, and you are doing really well.But, I think we both know there’s some hard things left to talk about. Do you need to take a break?”

Ari shook his head. “I’d like to get this over with.”

“Can you tell me about how you were treated in custody? Let’s start with when you were first taken in. According to your arrest record, you declined to have your boyfriend or your lawyer contacted.”

“No, no that’s not right,” Ari replied. “I asked to call Crowley straight away and they said I was entitled to legal advice and I told them about Dana.”

Moira handed him a piece of paper. “This is a copy of your arrest record that your lawyer shared with me. You can see that they have recorded that you declined these rights.”

“I can’t explain this,” Ari replied. “I... that’s not what I said. I was terrified... the last thing I wanted was to be alone there.”

“Okay. So, can we move on to the search at the police station? The police records indicate that you became distressed at the prospect of the search and fell before they could remove your restraints and that’s when they suspect you broke your wrist.”

“Oh... um. I wasn’t in a good place. I was terrified of being searched, and I was trying to cooperate, but it was hard because I was... well, I was scared, and my hands were shaking, and I was in handcuffs, and... when they started pulling my clothes off...”

Moira’s eyes snapped up. “The police officers removed clothes from you, you didn’t remove them yourself?”

Ari sighed. “I was trying to cooperate but, I suppose they couldn’t wait indefinitely.”

“And, this happened at the police station? Did they remove your clothes all at once?”

“Does that matter?”

Moira nodded. “I think it might, actually. The search you are describing doesn’t match the paperwork describing the search.”  
  


“I’m...I’m telling the truth,” Ari stammered in response.  


Moira cleared her throat. “Let me be clear, Ari, I believe you, not the paperwork. So, all your clothes were removed at once?”

“Y... yes,” Ari confirmed unhappily, he was looking paler now.

Newt glanced over at Ana, who was fuming.

“And, then what happened, Ari?”

“They.... completed the search. Did the rest of it. They didn’t find anything.”

Moira frowned. “What do you mean ‘the rest of it’?”

Ari sighed shakily. “You know... the... the cavity part. I.. could we move on...? I don’t really want to talk about that...”

Dana’s phone, clattered to the floor. Her eyes met Moira’s over Ari’s head.

“Did you know about this?” Moira asked Dana. 

Dana shook her head.

Moira looked at Ari and bit her lip. “Ari, I know you just asked me to move on, and I will in just a minute, but can you just clarify that a police officer searched inside your body, at the police station?”

Ari was starting to cry. “Yes... why does that... can... I can’t talk about this. _Please!_ ”

Moira sighed. “Okay. Look. I’m calling time on this interview. We have the statements you gave about Bannerman at the time. Is it alright if I just use those? Is there anything more you want to say about that? And... it doesn’t have to be now... you can call me later.”

Ari nodded quickly, and then stood up, clearly intending to bolt, but then seemed to remember he was still miked up, and froze, hyperventilating. 

Crowley stumbled towards him, almost tripping on a lighting cable, and slipped Ari out of his blazer, microphone and all, tossed the blazer to Bruno and gently, but quickly, lead Ari out of the room. Newt could hear sobbing before a door closed.

“Oh, fuck!” Moira exclaimed, touching her fingertips to the corner of her eyes in an apparent attempt to save her eyeliner. “Dana? You didn’t know about this?”

“I knew they broke his fucking wrist, but... yeah I didn’t know the search was that... irregular... I thought he just got triggered, and they didn’t respond well... not... _fuck_.”

Moira nodded. “Yeah. So what do I here, Dana? Should I pack up or...?”

“Not yet,” Dana replied quickly, glancing at her watch. “Why don’t you interview Pulsifer, here? And then we’ll see if Crowley can be spared. Or else, you can get Dr Device to tell you about setting that wrist in the living room, because Ari was too traumatized to leave the house.”

“Yeah, okay,” Moira replied, massaging her temples. “This is all just... this is _bigger_ than I thought. I... are you going to file a misconduct complaint? About the search?”

“I was going to see how the wrist healed before I made a recommendation,” Dana growled. “This new information is... _new_. I’ll have to... I don’t know.”

“He didn’t know,” Ana spoke up, softly. “Ari is not in the habit of getting arrested or searched. He didn’t know enough to tell us it was unusual, or I don’t know, maybe he told Crowley, but...”

“He didn’t tell Crowley,” Crowley replied reappearing suddenly. “Or, he did,  some of it, but I didn’t realize... anyway, Ana? Can we borrow you please?”

Ana followed Crowley to the bedroom, and all remaining eyes turned to Newt. Bruno started miking him up, and Dana started dabbing him with some sort of powder.

“No one else got made up,” Newt protested.

Dana smiled thinly. “No one else is this shiny, Care Bear. Settle down, you look fine.”

Moira and Bruno fussed a bit with the light and the sound again, but eventually they were ready, and Newt found himself facing down a camera.

“Do I look at you, or the camera?” he asked anxiously.

“Just look at me, Mr Pulsifer,” Moira replied gently. “Are you ready?”

“These lights feel awfully hot,” Newt replied, shifting in his seat.

Moira looked a little puzzled. “Would you like to take off your jacket before we start? It’s really best if you are wearing the same thing throughout...but, we would have to re-mike you...”

“No, I’m fine,” Newt replied. “Let’s just do this. I mean... I can’t imagine you have to many questions for me... I’m not really a major player here...”

“I don’t understand,” Moira replied with a frown at her notes. “You are Gabriel Bannerman’s other victim, aren’t you?”

Newt nodded. “Oh well, yes.... I mean... _technically_. But not like Ari. Gabriel Bannerman hit me _one time_ , it’s not like...”

“One strike that almost killed you, right?” Moira pressed. “You fractured your larynx...I mean, he fractured your larynx.”

“I...yeah. He just came out of nowhere, I was having a cup of tea, I saw something move in the corner of my eye, and then I felt this blow, and I... I heard this crack... and I... I couldn’t breath... there just wasn’t enough air... and I fell down... and I just lay there, and....”

“You okay there, Care Bear?” B piped up, suddenly.

Newt shook his head. “No... I’m not okay. I couldn’t get enough air, and so I... I didn’t do anything. I heard Bannerman come back with Ari, and manhandle him into the car... I didn’t really understand what was happening, but... I didn’t even turn my head... I didn’t even try... I just lay there, and... he... Ari’s my best mate, and I didn’t even try to help him... and, what happened to him, I.... I’m sorry, I can’t do this, I can’t... I’m so sorry... can you please take the microphone off... can you take the microphone off me because, please? I need some air because I can’t... just take it off. Take it off, please, I can’t...”

Unable to wait any longer to be understood, Newt bolted out the front door.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: References to past sexual violence. Veiled references to violence, self harm, cutting, and suicide.

“You going to be all right here, Crowley?” Dana asked. Moira and Bruno had packed up and departed some time ago, and Eric, B, and Dana were now on their way out.

Crowley’s heart hurt, his head hurt, even his fucking _teeth_ hurt. “Just tell me it was worth it, Dana.”

“Moira got some good stuff, and she’ll edit it well. I trust her. She’s not out to screw us.”

“That’s not what I mean Dana,” Crowley replied heavily. “I mean the _other_ thing. I mean the reason I had Anathema sedate Ari, and dragged him back into the range of that camcorder. Like a _psychopath_. Tell me _that_ was worth it.”

Dana sighed. “You’re better off not asking about these things, Crowley.”

“Please Dana,” Crowley sighed. “I won’t sleep otherwise, and, oh god but I need to sleep.”

“Alright then,” Dana replied. “Let me tell you a bedtime story. Once upon a time there was a dragon called Luke Phero. He’s a killer, this dragon, a _monster_ , but he’s a smart monster. One day, a man hires Luke to kill a woman, but he doesn’t tell Luke the whole story. He doesn’t tell him how well connected this woman is, doesn’t tell him that this woman is a fallen hero, once beloved of a great prince of the land. When Luke finds out how many enemies this job has made him, he isn’t pleased, and wants to turn those enemies into friends, and so he lures the man who hired him into a lethal trap, and the man dies in a hail of fire, once upon this afternoon. And the dragon lives happily ever after. The end.”

Crowley sighed. “Wow. How does B feel about the redemption of the monster, in this bedtime story?”

Dana sighed. “B’s a grown up, Crowley. They know that even when the good guys win, they don’t win outright, and, as often as not, they aren’t the good guys, any more, once they do.”

“Do I... _do_ anything?”

“Do absolutely nothing unusual, but apart from that, we are fine. Remember, we were all here in Oxfordshire, doing something excruciatingly painful, which we wouldn’t have needed to do, if we’d known what was going to happen. So, it stands to reason that we _didn’t_ know.”

“You got the excruciatingly painful part right,” Crowley muttered.

“Actually, do _one thing_ unusually. You and Ari need to stay away from news media, for a week or two. Your names have been all over Twitter, but this is going to be something else. Some people in your life are going to be utter arses... but others are going to be kind. And, it might surprise you who will be who. Only the kind ones are worth your time, by the way.”

“Yeah... thanks, Dana. The production company Moria works for... they could be hit by a bit of a tsunami. Make sure all the unpaid interns get pizza on me.”

Dana smiled. “It’s taken care of, Crowley. Just worry about your own house, yeah? Plenty to do, right here.

“Should I hug you, Dana? Are you a hugger? You do not resemble a hugger...”

Dana smirked. “You may give me a set of European air kisses, provided you do so ironically.”

“Deal,” Crowley replied with a smile. “Tell Eric to drive safe.”

He waved them off, trying not to think about how B’s flat demenour made his heart hurt.

_B’s a grown up,_ Dana had said.

Still, Crowley would not trade places with this Luke in a hurry.

_Next up, Anathema Device_.

He found her in his kitchen, her eyes heavy-lidded, and ringed with dark circles. He wondered how much was due to exhaustion, and how much was due to difficulty finding cruelty-free, waterproof eyeliner.

“We’ve got to talk, Ana,” Crowley sighed. “I need to know what wrong I’ve done to you. What have I done that would make you think I’d _ever_ treat Ari in the ways you accused me of, this morning?”

Ana looked up, miserably. “You haven’t _done_ anything, Crowley. I’m _angry_. I’m angry, all the time, because I’m scared, all the time. I know I’m misdirecting the anger- I saw someone, I’m getting help- but, I haven’t learned how to stop, yet. I’m sorry. You are copping it more than most, I know, but I think that’s maybe just because I think you can take it. I get angry at Newt, and my patients, and even at Ari, too, but, I think I take it out on you, because you can take it.”

“I _can’t_ take it, Ana,” Crowley replied, huskily. “I don’t mean I won’t, or that it isn’t fair, _I can’t_. I am terrified of being a bad partner to Ari, of mistreating him, of traumatizing him. Every time you suggest I am, that terror becomes a white hot panic, because I trust you, and I trust your judgement. Because you are my friend. So... I _can’t_ take it.”

Ana choked back a sudden sob. “Oh Crowley, you aren’t a bad partner. You are actually doing really well, better than most.”

“I didn’t ask him to marry me so he’d do the interview.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” Crowley replied, embarrassed that his voice squeaked a little. “I’ve been... I’ve been not asking him for months... because Elijah stole his youth, because he finally got free. How could I ask him to give up any freedom when he’d been locked away for so long...? But then Michael died, and it made me think... think that I could lose him, that one day, he’ll need the pain to stop, so badly, that he’ll... and, I didn’t want to waste another minute, another second. And, he was crying, but he said yes, and I was so happy. But then, he... he’s so _hurt,_ Ana. I don’t think I can bear it. I’d die before I’d make it worse. Please believe that.”

“I do,” Ana gasped and released the sobs she was holding back in a coarse, ugly bray. “I’m so sorry. Congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thank you,” Crowley sobbing too, but then it struck him as funny, and he laughed as well. “Fuck, I need a drink. Loads of drinks, actually, but Ari needs me. So I’ll just have one. You want one?”

“Pregnant, Crowley.”

“Oh, yeah. Sucks to be you. I’m going to go drink with Newt.”

_Another one down. Two to go._

_Miles to go before I sleep._

He found Newt sitting at the back of the house, on the patio, watching the sunset. Crowley placed two glasses of whisky down in front of him.

“Think we forgot about you for a bit, mate,” Crowley said. “I’m sorry. Honestly. Heard Ana’s seeing someone. Maybe we should get you a therapist too? Must be someone left in Oxfordshire not shrinking one of our heads.”

“I’m okay,” Newt replied. “I’m sorry I lost it, today. I didn’t know how bad it was, at the police station. And, Ari went to Oxford because I asked him to... I can’t... oh christ, what a mess.”

“Have a drink, Newt.”

“Before I do, just tell me if a bottle of this costs more or less than my car.”

Crowley winced. “What year is your car, again? Doesn’t matter. B and I talked about getting you a raise, a bit ago. But... stuff happened. Only, don’t let us forget, it’s important. And, I’m buying you a new car. You can’t drive babies around in that old banger. I’ll get one of the cars...with those.. baby seats? I know that’s I thing. And, we’ll get a locum doctor a few weeks early, so you and Ana can have some time, or go on a holiday, or paint walls pastel. Or whatever people do.”

“You don’t have to do any of that,” Newt said, considering the whisky. “I... I can take care of my own family.”

“Of course you can, Newt,” Crowley replied. “Never said you couldn’t. I’m just trying to take care of mine. Let me get you one of those... oh, what are they called...? think they’re Scandinavian?”

“I do like the locum idea,” Newt admitted. “Ana needs more help than she admits.”

“Right, then. One Scandinavian relief doctor coming right up. Tall, blond, something we can all enjoy.”

Newt shook his head. “You’re a menace, Crowley.”

“I _am_ a menace,” Crowley agreed. “Now, drink my whisky, eat from my fridge, sleep on any surface of mine that appeals to you, if you want to drink a lot of whisky. I’ve got to check on Ari:”

Newt nodded. “Tell him congratulations, from me, by the way. I didn’t get a chance, what with the whole mess.”

“I will.”

  
Crowley left to go to Ari.

_ Last one. Please be okay, my love. _

“Angel? Can I get you anything?” Crowley crept onto the bedroom. Ari didn’t say anything, so Crowley lay down beside him, and rubbed slow circles on his back.

“Never again, Angel. I swear it. You were so brave today. And, it’s done now. You’ll see. I’ll keep you safe. And we’ll get married, and it will be beautiful. We will work on the leaving the house thing. But, not too fast, and not too hard. It’s going to be alright. And, no reason we can’t get married right _here,_ anyway. In the living room. In your study. That weird corner space in the laundry. Under the kitchen sink. I will marry you _anywhere_. I love you, and, I’m so proud of you, and everything will be okay now. You’ll see.”

Ari turned in the near darkness, still silent, and nestled his head into the crook of Crowley’s neck.

And Crowley fell asleep.

* * *

  
Ari woke, and then stared at the ceiling, unsure what had woken him. The events of the previous day had...

_Don’t think about it!_

He heard it, then. Something between a snore and a snort, followed by a wracking cough.

He looked over at his beautiful Anthony...

_ Your fiancé! Think about THAT! He’s willing to marry YOU! _

... all but naked, on quite a brisk morning, and yet, he had kicked off all his blankets and was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. 

He was sick, and he hadn’t seemed sick yesterday, which meant whatever it was had gotten to his lungs quickly.

“My poor Anthony,” Ari murmured softly, unsure what just what to do, so he settled for sliding a blanket over Anthony’s legs, and picking up his phone to google, just how, exactly, one makes chicken soup.

His eyes latched on to the little collection of news apps on his phone screen, something of a professional hazard.

_Don’t think about it!_

He firmly directed his finger to the browser app, and allowed himself only to search for chicken soup recipes.

_What would you google, anyway? ‘Aziraphale Fell is a stupid, weak victim, who’s been raped so many times he’s stopped noticing, and needs nice strangers, with turquoise eyebrows, to point it out?’ DON’T THINK ABOUT IT. What am I supposed to do with you, if you won’t stop THINKING about it?! Just make the fucking soup..._

Ari set about making the soup. He was hampered by both the cast, and the need to be quiet, and not wake Anthony, so the recipe’s estimate preparation time passed several times.

Still, he made progress.

_I am making chicken stock._

_I am cutting peeled carrots into precise, tiny cubes._

_I am NOT thinking about it._

Ari was just managing to coax a comforting smell out of the pot, when he heard a panicked shout.  


“Angel??!!”

Ari took only a few steps towards the bedroom, before Crowley ran out, his face twisted in an agony of fear until he fixed his eyes on Ari, blinked twice, and burst into tears, then started to cough, and then, to splutter, gasp, and cough some more.

“My dear... what’s wrong...?”

“The dream... I dreamed, and then you weren’t... the bed was empty, and I...” Crowley stammered and then began to wheeze in a way Ari didn’t like at all.

“My dear, you are _sick_ , and I am making you soup. You should go back to bed,” Ari said with an authority he didn’t feel, but was granted, nonetheless, by those wheezes and that feverish sheen.

Crowley shook his head. “N....no... you should go back to bed. Cause, it’s over now... it’s time for you to start getting better... and why are there knives out, I don’t want you touching knives!!”

“I’m... I’m making you soup. There’s... there’s lots of chopping in soup making. The parts which aren’t the simmering are mostly... chopping.”

Crowley coughed again, and his eyes started to brim, perhaps with rhume but probably, at least partly, with tears. “No knives. Please... I don’t care about the soup.”

“Well, I do...” Ari replied firmly. “You are getting soup, and, whoever has the highest fever is going back to bed. Shall I fetch a thermometer, or do you yield, sir?”

Crowley leaned against the wall, and then began to slide down it. Ari tried to catch him but between the distance to cover and the wrist fracture he really only managed to soften the landing. 

“At least, come with me,” Crowley whined.

“I will bring you soup, in a minute,” Ari replied. “Once it’s done. And I might vaporize some eucalyptus oil too, if I can find some.”

“But, it smells awful.”

“Well then, the good news is, you will only be able to smell it if it works. Oh, and I’m calling Ana. Now, bed!”

Ana answered her phone on the second ring, although she sounded bleary. “ _Ari, are you okay, sweetheart? Do you need me? What do you need?”_

“It’s Crowley, not me. He’s sick this morning, and coughing already. Wheezing.”

Ana sighed, and from the sound of it, collapsed back on old mattress springs. “ _Has he using taking his asthma inhaler regularly?”_

Ari blinked. “Crowley has asthma?”

“ _So, that’s a no..._ ”

“I didn’t know he _had_ asthma...” Ari stammered.

Ana snorted. “ _Deal breaker, is it? Well, before you succumb to your prejudice, you should know that asthma treatments are ever improving, and with regular medication, many asthma suffers can live full and normal lives...”_

“Very droll, my dear, I’m sure,” Ari sighed. “I shall locate his inhaler and make sure he uses it.”

“ _That thing will either be expired, or lying in a ditch off the M40, or both.I’ll send Newt around with a fresh one... I mean, Deirdre. I’ll send Deirdre.”_

Ari frowned. “Is everything alright, dear?”

“ _Everything’s fine, Ari. What’s that clanking by the way?”_

“I’m making Anthony some soup, it’s nearly done.”

“ _Oh, that’s... that’s sweet of you,”_ Ana murmured. “ _Just... just stay on the phone with me until you turn off the burner, okay?”_

“Why?”

“ _No big deal. Just stay on the phone with me, for a bit. You said you were nearly done, right? Actually, I’m just going to text Deirdre now, okay?”_

Ari sighed and flicked off the gas burner. “I’m done. Burner is off.”

“ _We just love you, Ari._ ” Ana whispered, softly.

“I know... I... I just... have to go. Anthony needs soup.”


	16. Chapter 16

Crowley’s cold lingered. It lingered long enough that he was more or less forced to acknowledge that he was too old to eat poorly, drink all night, tango with reporters and be an accessory to murder. And long enough to demonstrate that, at the very least, he should quit smoking again.

Every sneaky cigarette was robbed of its joy anyway, as Ari would be on him, like a cat, and stand by the nearest window, clutching Crowley’s inhaler like a life preserver, which might be needed at any moment.

It was fucking _maddening_ and fucking _adorable,_ all at once. And much sweeter than nicotine.

“Please do _try_ to quit,” Ari would implore, his blue eyes somehow expanding to cartoon character proportions. 

Crowley would smile- because honestly, who could resist? - It would take a man of harder stuff than Crowley.

And, then, Ari would say something adorable about how much he loved him, and how Ari wanted to die first so he’d never be without him again, and Crowley would resolve to quit...

...and his resolution would last until he saw the next reporter standing out on the road with a telephoto lens. Their tenacity amazed him and it was terribly difficult to resist pulling out his phone and trying to figure out just how this whole thing was playing in the media.

Difficult... but he had promised.

And what if it was _bad_?

  
And what if it was bad, and his poker-face failed him?

Apart from the telephoto vultures, there were the interview requests, that Dana wasn’t even passing along any more, and Newt had even reported some, very clearly fake, couples pretending to be interested in the Manor for a wedding venue, just to snoop around; gawping at the library where Gabriel had snatched Ari, trying to think of excuses to view the garage.

A week or so into the siege, a cold snap hit, and Crowley was sure they’d at least lose the telephoto lens set.

But the cold wind blew to no avail. 

And at the same time, Ari, who had more or less ignored them, seemed to become intensely agitated by their presence, glancing through windows and clicking his tongue unhappily. Crowley was maybe five minutes away from making a run at vehicular manslaughter, when something of a minor miracle occurred.

Ari marched into the kitchen, filled every thermos he could find with hot sweet tea, and pulled on a pair of wellingtons. He the marched over to journalists, passed the thermoses over the hedge, and marched back to the house.

“You went _outside_!” Crowley exclaimed, pulling him into a hug. “They aren’t worth it, of course, and, they’ll sell the photos if they possibly can, because they are garbage. But, you went _outside_!”

Ari smiled sadly. “I’m sure my tattered reputation will survive photos of me walking, near my own house, holding thermoses. And yes, I did go outside. I spoke to Rae, on the phone, yesterday and... and it was time. He said that my brain is associating inside the house as safe, and outside as dangerous, and that the longer I waited, the stronger that would get. And the _harder_ it would be. And... although being trapped in a house with you is no mean fate, my love, I... I want more for myself than that.”

Crowley smiled. “Just tell me you put some laxatives in the tea.”

“I did no such thing,” Ari sniffed. “The only person I force-medicate is you, with your blessed asthma inhaler.”

“It’s hardly force. I’ll happily suck on anything that you ask me to,” Crowley replied, lightly, and then cringed internally, worrying he’d gone too far. 

But, Ari only rolled his eyes, affectionately, and began to wonder aloud if he should have taken the journalists some biscuits.

* * *

B stared up at the church. It was, maybe, two hundred years old, at most, but it had _attitude_ about it. It was obnoxiously _churchy,_ and shaped like an older building, but with none of the actual grandeur or _dignitas_ of age.

It was somewhere between dog balls and a televangelist’s smile.

Exactly the sort of place Michael’s parents would pick.

“Want me to come in with you?” Eric asked, gently.

B very much did, but they refused nonetheless. Eric was a sweet, sweet boy, and had done nothing, in his life, to deserve the Kemps.

“I doubt I’ll be very long,” they whispered.

“I’ll be here,” Eric whispered back, and B got out of the car.

B walked up the self-conscious little path, past all the self-conscious little gardenias. Loud and amateurish organ music blasted.

“All things bright and beautiful, my fucking arse,” B hissed, straightened her shoulders, and marched.

“Those are the wrong flowers,” some ancient, pig-nosed dude announced, blocking her way.

B blinked at him. “Delphiniums were Michael’s favourite.”

They _were_ her favourite. B remembered a music festival, fifteen years ago, where they had braided some into Michael’s hair. How Michael had pretended to be annoyed. How the colour of the blooms had brought out the red in her tumbling curls.

Pig-nose sniffed. “Michelina-Jane’s parents specifically requested calla lilies, or a Donation to Saint Steven’s Pathways to Divinity project.”

B barked a surprised laugh. “That fucking _conversion program_ they sent her to? Hasn’t anyone had that hell-camp shut down, yet? No? Well, guess I know what I’m doing tomorrow. Also, calla lilies? Seriously? You got a bunch of baby’s-breath to go with that shit? And, she hasn’t been Michelina-Jane since her 18th birthday. Seriously. There’s paperwork.”

Pig-nose raised an eyebrow. “I think you should go. Whoever you are.”

B gritted her teeth. “Yeah. Probably should. But, you should fuck off with this shit, and this eyesore church, and fucking Pathways to Divinity, and your pink coffin, and your calla lilies. You know who I am. And, you know who she was, too. And this shitty, white-wash of a funeral doesn’t change _any_ of that.”

B stomped back to the car.

Eric handed her a tissue.

B took one look at it, and burst into tears.

* * *

The prospective bride was the type to begin walking the wrong way down every corridor, and open every drawer. 

_Sure_ , Newt thought, ‘Ca _use I left juicy, gossip-worthy, things just lying around, but also, I put them in the drawers, so that only the truly quality snoop could find them. Well done, Madam!_

She was, also, much less subtle than she thought.

“So, I heard there was some sort of trouble, at this place,” she said, pretending to be inspecting the ceiling rosettes. “A kidnapping.”

Newt sighed. “Yes, there was. It was a private house at the time, though. As a wedding venue, we are 100% kidnapping-free.”

“I heard it was the boyfriend of Anthony Crowley, who got kidnapped. Some sort of sex scandal. Jealous exes. Organized crime.”

“Some of the details were reported incorrectly,” Newt replied, blandly.

“A police officer died?”

“Not at the Manor,” Newt replied tensly. “Now, this staircase, here, is a popular spot for photos because of the lead-light window and the antique sconces. There are some lovely examples in our portfolio...”

“Did you work here then?” she interrupted. “During the scandal?”

“Err... well, it was a private house then, so...” Newt dissembled, vaguely.

“But, you‘ve met them, right? Crowley and the other one? What are they really like? Is the blond one a gold-digger? You’d think he was, wouldn’t you, but then, he’s only okay to look at... but maybe he had other attributes, you know what I mean...”

“Do you know what?” Newt interrupted, as pleasantly as he could bear to. “I’ve just remembered that we are COMPLETELY booked out, for all the dates you are interested in. I’m SO sorry.”

The bride folded her arms. “But, I haven’t told you what dates I’m interested in.”

“And yet, we are booked for them,” Newt replied, with a smile. “So sorry. Thank you very much for your interest in Tadfield Manor.”

“Can I at least finish the tour?”

Newt smiled harder. “I’m afraid not. Good day, now.”

In his office, he permitted himself to rest his head on the desk. It wasn’t that he was worried. He was 100% sure that Crowley would back him up on booting Ms Nosy into the middle of next year. It had taken B’s intervention to prevent “No Assholes” being thefirst of the Manor’s terms and conditions.

He wasn’t _worried_. He was just _tired_. And, being tired now was terrifying, because literally every person over forty that he spoke to these days, told him to enjoy his rest now, because he was about to _really_ be in for it.

He needed help. And Ana was going to kill him, but, he picked up his phone.

“Hi mum, it’s Newt! I’m sorry, I haven’t called in a while. It’s been a bit of a madhouse, but, exiting news! Ana’s pregnant. Twins! So it’s great, lovely, really. Except I’m a bit... so... do you think maybe we could meet for lunch this week? My treat. Anyway, call me back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit late.  
> Had a bout of imposter syndrome.  
> Thank you all for being here.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory for: Discussion of homophobia/ transphobia; families being terrible.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads this (always!), but a special thank you to those who left a supportive comment after my last update. I have been struggling and your words helped a lot!

Dana glanced up at the message from her executive assistant.

> Eric (B’s assistant) is here to see you. Want me to get rid of him?

Dana blinked in surprise, but typed back.

> No. I’ve got time for B’s Eric. In fact, put him on the list.

The door opened, and Eric crept in. He was holding a hat of some kind in both hands. Dana couldn’t recall ever seeing him in a hat.

_Delightful! She loved theatre._

“Eric, darling! So lovely of you to stop by. How is our B?”

Eric sat down and looked up at her, all big soulful eyes. “She’s not so great, Dana. Michael’s family wouldn’t let her stay at the funeral. Wouldn’t even let her leave the pretty flowers she brought. And, they got Michael’s name wrong, and everything. B says she’s alright, cause she’s curb-stomping some clandestine conversion camp wotzit. But... she isn’t alright, Dana. She’s _sad_. The Kemps made her _sad_. And, I know that sometimes people come to you for, like, karma and shit, and I’m not rich, but B pays good, and I’ve got a bit saved, so....thought I’d ask, anyway.”

Dana found herself enchanted. “Tell me, Eric, what sort karma do you think the Kemps deserve? What would _you_ do?”

Eric thought,for a bit. “Oh... I don’t know, really. Guess what I’d wanna do is celebrate Michael, proper. Like a big, high-glam ball, drag, if you want, but you don’t have to, but, like, _glitter crystal rainbow_. And, get enough cool celebs there, that it’d be in the papers. And invite Michael’s _real_ family- and, maybe, the real family of other queerfolks, who didn’t get sent off right- and I’d say their real names, and I’d tell their real stories. And, I’d raise a buncha money for something awesome. And, I’d call it the Michael Kemp Ball. And, it would be more famous than anything the other Kemps ever said or did. And, maybe, I’d hold it every year, until queerfolk _all_ get buried right in the first place, and there aren’t any more real names that need saying or real stories that need telling. Yeah. I think that’s what karma they deserve.”

Dana smiled. “Well, Eric. Keep your money, because it looks like I’m your fairy godmother today. And start looking for a nice frock, because you’re going to be going to a ball.”

* * *

Newt spotted his mum, hunched shoulders, clutching her handbag, and waved her over.

Her coat was frumpy, and too thin for the weather, but the cafe was warm. “Oh, it’s so lovely to see you,” she cooed, reaching up to hold his cheek. “My wonderful boy.”

“Hello mum,” Newt replied, wrapping her up on a hug. “I’ve missed you.”

“Never mind that now, love,” Pamela replied sitting down with a breezy smile. “You’ve been busy! And, you’re going to be a dad, and all! I’m so proud of you. Now, then. This place is nice. _Fancy_.”

There was a slight edge to her voice that made Newt sad. “Don’t worry about it, mum.I just got quite a big raise, actually. I’m managing a venue now. I’m doing really well.”

“Still, you should save your good fortune for those babies you’ve got coming,” Pamela fussed. “Oh, and speaking of which, I was reading this thing on Facebook, about this lady that knits and crotchets little jellyfish octopus things, for babies who come a bit early. It’s supposed to keep them company in their isolettes. I figured that would go double for twins, so I made you some. I followed all the directions, really closely, and made sure I bought the right wool. But, if Ana’s not keen, maybe you can hang them like a mobile or something? I don’t mind...”

Newt glanced in the bag she offered, which indeed held two crotchet jellyfish, with curly tendrils, one yellow and one teal. “Oh, they are _lovely_ mum. I’m sure the twins will love them. Thank you! Oh and there’s...”

“Some tiny little hats, too. I’m not sure you’ll need them, but they are there, if you do.”

Newt smiled so hard he almost cried. “Oh it’s... it’s nice to... feel happy about it, for a minute. There’s so much worrying, Mum. Honestly. Ana’s beside herself. So frightened and cross. And sometimes, I feel like, I don’t have any of this in me....”

Pamela sighed, looking as though she would cry herself. “They’ll have it good, Newt love, don’t worry yourself. It won’t be like... you are kind and strong. You aren’t like me, and Ana’s not like your Dad. And, you’ll have money. I mean love is most of it, but when the ends meet, and the sums add up... well, there’s just less to fight about. Less, _kindling_ , like.”

Newt sniffed. “You are kind and strong, mum. And you had the love part down. You did your best.”

“I wasn’t brave enough to leave, Newt,” Pamela sighed. “And, I should have been. For you. At the time I thought... well, I didn’t know how I’d feed you. And you read these stories, about angry exes killing the kids, to get their own back. And, I though if... if you were fed, and if I took the worst of it... well, I guess it doesn’t make sense. But I _thought_ it did. I’m sorry.”

“Mum, it’s okay,” Newt mumbled. “I mean, I get it. I was there, so I really get it. I don’t blame you.”

“Your Ana does though,” Pamela sighed. “And I don’t blame her. She doesn’t understand, and thank all of Heaven for that, because she’s never been there, and never will. Because, she’s got _you_.”

Newt started at a painting- flowers? fruit?- for a moment, and blinked. “Anyway, mum. How’s the factory?”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Pamela answered, her voice brightening considerably. “I fill in as shift manager, sometimes. Oh, and sometimes I train the trainees to do my bits of the line. Taught a lad how to unfold the boxes and pack the buns in the other day. You forget how good you get at stuff like that,till you watch someone else try to learn it. It’s just a little bit good for the soul, to watch the young un’s struggle a bit. Bit naughty I suppose. But good for the soul.”

Newt nodded. “And, has your landlord fixed your sink?”

“Oh, not yet, love. But he’ll get round to it. He cuts me slack with the rent date, here and there, so it’s only fair I do the same.”

“It’s been months, though, mum. You’ve never been months late on rent. Anyway, I wanted to say, now I’m making more, maybe we can find you a slightly nicer place. I can help with moving expenses, deposits and all that...”

Pamela shook her head. “And I told you, love, save that good fortune for my little grand-babies. Buy ‘em all those fancy car-seats, and Baby Mozart. Start em off right. I’ll muddle along. Oh, and that reminds me, Marion said to tell you that she saw you on the Telly. I didn’t tune in, mind, can’t bear all that current affairs stuff. People in trouble. Sets my angina going.”

“It’s _more_ than okay, mum,” Newt replied. “I didn’t watch it, either.”

“Well, Marion did. And, she said that you looked right handsome, and that your Mr Crowley did, too. And, she thought your Mr Crowley’s new fellow seemed really sweet. She said they seemed like good people for... well you know Marion, she’s old school, so I won’t repeat _exactly_ what she said. But she meant well.”

Newt nodded along. “Will you think about moving, mum? Maybe you could move a little closer... spend some time with the babies.”

“I don’t think your Ana would be too keen, love,” Pamela answered, taking her son’s hand. “But, I’ll think about it. For some years down the road, anyway. When I’ve made enough to retire on the pension.”

“I miss you,” Newt replied, softly. “I’m going to call more. I promise.”

Pamela smiled. “I’d love that, Newt. Just promise me you won’t beat yourself up, if you don’t.I’m proud of the life you’ve built, in spite of everything, and I want you to live it. All I ever want you to do for me is live well, and be good to Ana and your little ones.”

“Always.”

* * *

Crowley sucked hard on his tongue, to avoid coughing. Ari had made it all the way to the barn, and Crowley did not want to risk him turning back, on Crowley’s account. At least, not without getting to enjoy some bovine ebullience.

Zaira and Selene had more or less the run of the whole stables, but each had her favourite stall and it was from these that they poked their heads out.

Zaira gambled over with enthusiasm, even before catching sight of the bribery apples, and Selene followed sedately behind, each clad in puffy cow rugs, for the weather.

Each cow sniffed and snuffled into Ari, who stroked their ears and eyes gently. “I thought they’d be put out that I hadn’t come for so long,” he murmured. “Maybe even have forgotten me.”

“Never, “ Crowley replied. “Impossible.”

Zaira nipped at Ari’s cast experimentally, while Selene just leaned into his caress.

It was still too cold to stay long, but even the short visit brought buoyancy to Crowley’s angel’s step. “I love you,” Crowley said, seeing it. “I’m so proud of you.”

Ari smiled. “I think I’ll even fetch in the mail.”

Crowley growled. “Why bother? It’s always all for me, and I don’t care about any of it.” But, he did stand and wait, watching Ari take the short round trip off their way to the letterbox and back.

“It is, indeed, MOSTLY for you,” Ari called, jogging up. “But there’s something for me, for once.”

Crowley’s brow creased. “What? What did you get? You never get mail.”

Ari flipped the letter over, and smiled warmly. “Oh! It’s from my mother! I... I sent her a change of address card, in case she ever wanted to get back in touch. But I didn’t think... but, it’s a hand written letter. Maybe she’s changed her mind! Maybe she can even come to the wedding.”

A lump caught in Crowley’s throat. “Angel... be careful...” was what he managed to say, as if Ari were unwrapping a blade, or a bomb, as he opened the envelope.

Sure enough, Ari’s smile faltered and fell, and a cloud of softdesolation gathered in his eyes. “Oh... it’s... it’s not what I thought.”

Feeling a little sick, Crowley held out his hand into which Ari shakily deposited the handwritten note.

> Aziraphale,
> 
> It is with considerable disappointment that I note that you have chosen to air the sordid details of your lifestyle in the press.
> 
> I urge you, in the future, to consider the feelings and reputation of your ancestors and relations, both living and dead, before you elect to bring the family name into association with such lurid affairs.
> 
> Cordially,
> 
> Your Mother

Crowley saw red. “ _Cordially_?! That’s what the old bat considers cordial?! Well, I’d hate to see what she serves as trash-talk, before a smash down. No, wait. I’d _love_ to see it, provided I got to do the smashing. Angel?”

Crowley turned and caught sight of Ari, just as he reached the house and ran through the door.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: THIS iS ROUGH. strong dissociative symptoms, internalized victim blaming, oblique references to past cutting/self harm, discussion of forced hospitalisation
> 
> Also descriptions of past rape/sexual assault, and probably more graphic than is typical for this story.

“Angel? Angel, are you all right?”

Crowley’s voice.

Ari gave serious thought to opening his eyes.

_You really should, you know_.

And he would. In a minute.

His head was resting on his folded knees. His back pressed into the corner of the bedroom. He’d meant to sit on the bed, or, at worst, curl up on the bed, but it hadn’t felt right. Only the corner felt _right_.

_You can’t behave this way. You need to get up and be normal._

Or normal-er.

And he would. In just a moment.

Crowley was moving, moving towards him, but hesitant. “Angel, you know that this letter is... like, highly-concentrated bollocks. You know that, right...?”

And Ari did know. He could recite all the correct platitudes. If it was a test, he would blitz it. It was part of his daily routine. 

Get up.  
Rinse the night out of your mouth. Remind yourself that you didn’t deserve it when Elijah pulled your hair and forced you to deep throat him till you choked.  
Have some coffee and something to eat.  
Remind yourself that there is nothing disgusting about your body, whatever Elijah said, while driving his fingernails into your hips.  
Have a shower.  
Ignore the scars, ignore all the scars, but especially the scars which were about Gabriel tearing your organs apart from the inside.  
Get dressed.  
Brush your teeth. Ground yourself, while brushing your teeth, because, what kind of idiot is triggered by their own toothbrush? And if you don’t brush your teeth, then it will be the dentist, and the dentist will gas you and you won’t be able to breathe and you won’t know what’s happening, and what if...  
Wash your face.  
Shave.  
Shave, but don’t think about blades.

So, yes, he knew. The knowing was constant. The knowing was _work_. Endless, boring, _exhausting_.  


The endless, boring, exhausting work of catching the ever-restless thoughts, flying around in his mind, awakening each other. Soothing them back to sleep, one by one. But, they were always there. Restless, eternal, hungry... like...  
  


“Bats,” he whispered, aloud. “Like bats.”

Vampiric bats. Slowly draining him. Draining the blood from a reanimated body that longed in vain, for a unhaunted mind. While a haunted mind longed for living, unsoiled body, to begin again in. 

Crowley frowned, and folded his arms across his chest. “Sweetheart, I don’t understand you. What about bats?”

Ari sighed shakily. 

_ For fuck’s sake, act normal! You can’t act like this around him. You can’t be THIS around him... or... or he’ll.... just... just pull yourself together. _

“I _do_ know, Anthony, I do. But, it’s just... it’s just so _relentless_. All these thoughts, flying around. Like bats. The thoughts are the bats Not even one at a time. Vampires flapping around in a zombie. And it’s exhausting. And, I’m tired. And I’m just so.... angry.”

  
A gentle hand reached for Ari, just finger tips on his forearm. “Oh, sweet Angel. But, _of course_ you’re angry. You _should_ be angry...”

“But, I don’t want to be angry!” Ari interrupted. He’d tried to say it calmly, but didn’t manage. His voice was high and had a strange keen in his own ears.

Crowley blinked. He didn’t understand. Of course, he didn’t. Crowley was strong and beautiful, and he knew how to be angry. Knew how to bear it, understood how to breath fire, and carry fury.  


How could Crowley understand when, for Crowley, iron-hearted, anger was a forge? How could he understand that, for Ari, anger was a swamp, a swamp that clung and weighted him? A swamp that _drowned_.

“I don’t _like_ being angry,” Ari kept trying to explain and it sounded now, to himself, like he was begging. “It doesn’t feel... it doesn’t feel _safe_.”

  
Crowleys breathing was ragged now.   
  


_Do you see what you’ve done? Can you see that you are hurting him. This is how you do it. How your weakness poisons everything. Just STOP._

”Angel, it _is_ safe to be angry. You _should_ be. I don’t know...maybe you even _need_ to be. Certainly, its normal to be. And, you are safe with me, I promise...”

_Cause he doesn’t know, does he? He doesn’t see what you really are. And he mustn’t. If he does, then he’ll...._

_”..._ is it because I said the letter was bollocks..?,” Crowley continued. Still tearful. 

_ Your fault. _

  
“....Because, I didn’t mean it was laughable, or just stupid bullshit. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, it was totally wrong. I don’t think so much wrong has ever been committed to paper, in two scant sentences, before. It’s weapons-grade wrongness. No, _evil_. Weapons-grade, vicious evil. I’m a bit worried, when we burn the thing, it might release some dark spirit of evil-wrongness into the world...”

_Burn it? No. No!_

“No!” Ari exclaimed. That got him out of the corner. He scrambled to his feet and snatched the letter out of Crowley’s hand. “You can’t burn it. I NEED it.”

He needed it to remind himself. To remind himself that it was hopeless with his mother. That she’d never love him. That he’d never be good enough. 

He knew exactly where to put it too, and he pushed passed Crowley and took out the box hidden in the bottom of his own dresser. With his old sweater. With the bow ties he couldn’t wear.

“That’s the book,” he heard Crowley say. “The one you told Moira about. The one Elijah tore up, the day before you ran. I didn’t know you still had it.”

“I saved for it for years,” Ari murmured in reply. “Every bit of money I could. I thought about buying it nearly every night. Whenever....” He couldn’t just throw it away...

“Maybe we could get it repaired,” Crowley suggested gently, as Ari smoothed the creases out of his mother’s letter, pressing it against hisown chest to do so.

“I was going to do it myself,” Ari answered.

I meant to take a course. But... things kept happening...

“Things!” he laughed aloud. “Things! And it doesn’t even matter cause you’ve got three of them.”

Three copies of exactly the same edition. All signed. All lined up on a shelf somewhere.  


“I’ve got three things? Three what?” Crowley prompted, gently.

But Ari only shook his head. He wasn’t being fair. It wasn’t Crowley’s fault. Crowley was kind, and generous and would give him the books if he asked for them. Would give him anything...

_Because he hasn’t really seen you, has he? Hasn’t seen you lying listless and passive in the London flat, hasn’t seen you helpless and flailing while Gabriel tore you open, hadn’t seen you screaming and pissing yourself on a police station floor. Because if he had seen any of that...he’d..._

  
He lay the letter gently down in the box, under the broken cover. The torn pages. He felt Elijah’s hands. Elijah’s fingernails. Elijah’s teeth. Tearing. Brusing. Heard his own shameful, cowardly screaming.  
  


“Do you remember when Zaira was born?” Ari asked, because he couldn’t think how else to even begin. Because, even though Crowley was right there with him... it was Crowley’s hand tentatively rubbing his back... but he was far away also. And fading... or sliding. He wasn’t quite there. “Do you remember how much Selene loves her, how naturally, how automatically?”

Somehow, this Crowley seemed to almost understand. “Angel, there’s nothing wrong with you. I don’t know how your mother can bear to treat you like this. It’s unfathomable to me. But... the fault is NOT with you. Whatever it is... it’s her. You should have been loved like that.”

”Have we talked about this before?” Ari asked, slightly baffled by being understood, even a little. “I don’t remember.”

Crowley started to cry. “It doesn’t matter if I’ve said I before. I’ll say it forever. I love you, and I will say it forever.”

_You made him cry. This is what you do. This is what you do to people._

  
  
Ari tried to explain. “I wasn’t made right. I think she couldn’t love me cause I was missing.. something... but I still wanted it. Still needed it. It’s like, I’m always thirsty.”

”Then, I’ll be a river,” Crowley replied, still crying. “If you’re always thirsty for love, then, I will always be a river. And not some poncy little jumped up creek, mind you. I’ll be a great river. One that can nurture great civilisations. I’ll be the Nile, the Indus, the Euphrates....”

  
Ari couldn’t really follow the words, though, because his mind had snagged on Crowley’s tears. He tried to catch the thread of his voice, but it was muffled, and more like music than language anyway, and even Crowley’s face seemed to be drifting in and out of a fog.

_Oh it’s this... it’s happening again... and when this happens I’m supposed to..._

Ari slid, and when his head connected with something it was soft...

  
_...I’m supposed to ground myself...supposed to... five things you can see..._

But everything he could see was far away and too loud and not really made of things anyway. So he closed his eyes.

Crowley’s voice changed sound somewhere. High and sharp now... but still beautiful.  
  


Bird like.  
  


..... _open your eyes...._

_......you can’t act this way...._

_.... you have to.... have to..._

And he would. In just a moment.

Probably.

* * *

Crowley cradled his head in his hands, hoping Ana would just sort of... stop talking?

She didn’t, though. “... and, so you see why I don’t really want him cooking, unless you are supervising. Dissociative symptoms this severe? And it’s happened multiple times now...”

“What? No it hasn’t,” Crowley interrupted.

“It has,” Ana said firmly, sitting down, as well. Opposite Crowley, instead of next to him. _Adversarial_. “He said he lost time on the police station. You said he was unresponsive for about five minutes after you broke the window. And now this. And these are ones we know about.”

“Those aren’t all the same...”

“Anthony, stop it! You can’t just ignore this. It’s dangerous. Maybe the police station was different, but he was in no actual danger from a broken window, let alone a letter. This is extreme.”

Crowley shook his head. “You aren’t qualified to assess any of this.”

Ana frowned. “He self-harmed after the window.”

“On your watch...” Crowley glared

“I need to sleep,” Ana replied firmly. “And, so do you. And yeah, I’m probably not qualified. So, it’s time to consider inpatient care.”

“No!” Crowley replied firmly. “We aren’t doing that.”

“I think we need to.”

Crowley shook his head. “I promised I wouldn’t...” Ari had been rambling, nonsensical. Had frightened him, and then had just... 

“Well, you shouldn’t have,” Ana replied mildly. “Do the right thing now.”

“I was doing the right thing when I promised, Crowley replied firmly. “No hospitals. He is getting better, he’s gone outside. It was just the letter.”

“You don’t know he’s safe, Anthony. A short hospital stay, proper diagnoses, proper medication. Proper supervision...”

“I’m not doing it, Ana.” Crowley replied. “I can’t.”

Ana sighed. “It doesn’t have to be up to you... there are provisions... if I get another doctor to sign off...”

Crowley stood up. “Are you threatening us, Ana? Because...”

“No, Crowley. I’m not threatening you,” Ana sighed. “I’m saying that I can take the blame.. as far as Ari will know, you will have kept your promise. And hospitalisation won’t be so bad. I’m sure you can afford somewhere nice. And, it won’t be like after Gabriel. You’ve been living together long enough... you’ll count as his closest relative. Come on, Anthony. Please. You _know_ he’s not safe.”

Crowley have her a small hopeless smile. “The funny thing is, I was hoping you and I could bond over this letter business. Hating our respective mothers-in-law. Classic hetero bonding material, that.”

“Just, think about it Anthony,” Ana sighed. “Really _think_. Promise me that.”

Crowley sat down, giddy. His thoughts howled and gnawed at each other. He was sure of nothing, except of his own fear, and his own love. “I’ll... I’ll think about it.”


	19. Chapter 19

The receptionist sighed. “While I’m glad you have come back, Mr Crowley, Dr De’Ath is _fully_ booked today. You don’t have an appointment.”

Crowley glanced over his sunglasses. “I do have an appointment, actually. I bought Felicity’s.”

“I’m sorry, you what?”

“Felicity Chaffinch. She’s your three o’clock...”

The receptionist frowned. “I can not confirm that one way or another...”

“Well, of course you can’t. But I can. And she’ll be calling to cancel in about ten seconds.”

The receptionist frowned harder. The phone rang.

“I’m paying her cancellation fee, too, by the way,” Crowley whispered and took a seat.

“There’s an official cancellation list!” the receptionist hissed. 

“No one on it can get here in two minutes though, and here I am.”

The receptionist rolled her eyes, but took Felicity’s call and then spoke briefly to Dr De’Ath over the office phone.

Dr Susan De’Ath emerged a moment later, farewelled her previous client and then fixed her eyes on Crowley. “This isn’t acceptable, Anthony.”

Crowley smiled. “Hello, Susan. Terribly sorry, but it’s something of an emergency.”

Susan raised her eyebrows. “Well yes, I do _try_ to avoid the news, but...”

“Oh, it’s not about that,” Crowley said quickly. “Well, I guess, it’s _technically_ all related. But I wouldn’t want to waste your time with that nonsense. Extrapolating, in seven-or-so years, the magazines in your waiting room will be from _this_ month, and you can read all about it, then.”

“So, you _aren’t_ here to talk about accidentally becoming a LGBT icon in the middle of a bitter culture war?”

“Oh, hell no... wait... _what? Am I?_ No, wait, don’t answer that. I don’t care. No, I need help with something else. Look... I know this is shady, but Felicity is _fine_! Felicity was coming to you because she was anxious about losing her job, and her credit card debt, right? Well, I’ve paid off her credit card, and got her a job as an assistant manager of a supermarket, this afternoon. So... she’ll be _fine_. At least for a bit... Felicity is having a good day. My thing is urgent though.”

“Anthony...you can’t just...”

“Susan, I’m _scared_ , okay? Really scared. I... I’m afraid that I’m going to make the wrong decision, and Ari’s going to die. I can’t... I can’t be _in charge_ of this. I don’t know what to do. I just... I feel... it’s getting on top of me. It’s problem after problem and... B helps me with this stuff, but she’s out of commission, because the love of her life just fucking died, and Ana helps me with this stuff, but she’s growing two humans, and I think they might be eating her brain, and Newt is not answering his phone, and I don’t actually know what that’s about, and if I should be worried about that? So, it’s possible I broke Newt and I haven’t even noticed yet. But either way, it’s just me. You get that?! Suddenly, I’m the one who is supposed to have things together, and be in charge, and that’s not me, and I don’t know how to do it, and..... I’ve done things Susan, like, _bad things_ , and I’m not even sorry, and I need you to shrink my brain, to give me perfect judgement, and you have 55 minutes, please and thank you, because otherwise the love of _my_ life is going to die, too. And I don’t know that I’d survive it.”

Susan sat down in the chair next to Crowley’s. “Okay, Anthony. You are clearly having some sort of crisis, and so I’m not going to fire you as a patient for this stunt, but, I’m not your dancing monkey either. Because you are in crisis, I will see you at 6, at the end of my normal consulting hours. For the record, this is exactly what would have happened if you had just called the office and _told me_ you were in crisis. There was no need to stop Felicity on her way in - which is what I’m going to _assume_ you did, because it is the least creepy option- and just... throw money at her problems.”

Crowley exhaled. “Firstly, Susan, thank you. And secondly? Are you really going to stay an extra hour just to rap me over the knuckles? Wouldn’t it make more sense just to see me now?”

“Anthony...”

“I can’t just wait here til 6,” he hissed “ I can’t be away that long. I’m _afraid_ to be away that long.”

“Then, leave, and come back,” Susan replied, smoothly. “I understand that you are feeling panicked, and that your head is screaming at you to fix this immediately. But, you are going to practice sitting with this anxiety. For three hours. And then we’ll talk. If Ari is in danger in the next three hours, call 999. Otherwise, come back at 6. You can leave him in the waiting room if you want. As you mentioned, the magazines are, indeed, all out-of-date.”

“You are really going to sit alone in your office for an hour, until your four o’clock, just to spite me?”

Susan sniffed. “I have Netflix on my phone. I’ll see you at 6.”

* * *

Crowley drove home a little too quickly, only relaxing when he caught sight of Leslie’s truck, over by the barn, confirming that the vet was still here.  
  


_Good_.

At least _parts_ of his plans still worked.

“Anthony...!” Ari called, catching sight of him.  


His poor Angel looked awful. Pale, drawn and hollow eyed and... too thin... as if he had lost weight since yesterday.

“Anthony...Leslie pulled up, almost just as you left, and said you called him to say one of the cows were limping. Only, I didn’t know which one, cause you didn’t tell me anything about it, and, we’ve been walking them around the barn for forty-five minutes trying to spot it, but I can’t manage, and Leslie can’t seem to either, and, I didn’t know what do tell him and, oh, which is hurt?”

Crowley exhaled, guiltily...limping cow had been the first fake emergency that occurred to him. “Erm, not _100% on that_ , if I’m honest. Was at a bit of a distance, couldn’t quite tell who was who...”

“You can’t tell your two very pampered cows apart?” Leslie asked sceptically “Even when they are wearing unnecessary blankets with their names embroidered on them?” 

“Erm... yes... couldn’t read the monograms... I was waaaaaay over the other side of the stable,” Crowley lied.

“But, one blanket is blue and the other one is yellow,” Leslie observed. 

“Really? Had no idea! Colourblind.”

“Are you?” Ari exclaimed, looking utterly crestfallen. “Oh, how I never noticed that either...?”

  
_oh fuck... this is getting out of hand. Now I have to remember to be colour-blind for the next thirty odd years_

  
Crowley regrouped. “Errrrm... anyway. Do you think, Leslie, that you could just give both cows a really good check over? Just in case?”

“Oh, I did already,” Leslie replied with a sigh. “Couldn’t find a thing wrong.”

“We had to put Zaira in the squashy box thing, and she HATES it,” Ari fretted. “She’s so cross with me. And, still nothing... oh what if it’s something serious, like arthritis or... a tumour?”

Leslie sighed. “I very much doubt it’s anything serious. Or anything unserious. Or anything. I mean... maybe a stone bruise? Maybe?”

“A stone bruise? Oh what do we do about that?” Ari asked. “Do they need boots or something?”

“No...” Leslie sighed. “No. They don’t need boots. It’s fine... it’s really only a problem if there’s an ulcer... and there isn’t so...”

“So stones can cause, ulcers?” Ari asked. “Oh... perhaps I can try to rake all the stones out of their favourite meadows...”

“Don’t fret, Angel,” Crowley interrupted, resolving to forever cross fake veterinary emergency off his list of tricks. “We’ll get new lawns... I mean _turf_... I mean _pasture_ put in. Softer... grass.”

Leslie started coughing heavily.

“Ghastly, this cold weather, isn’t it?” Ari commiserated. 

Leslie nodded, holding his breath. “Well, all seems well here, and I’ve other patients to see today, so I’d best be off. Do let me know if one of them sneezes, or gets attacked by a butterfly, or if your grass gets too hard for their feet again. Looking forward to seeing what footwear you are going to end up getting them whatever I say, because neither of you have the sense god gave a....” the rest of his muttering was lost to a closed truck door.

“You do think the girls will be all right, don’t you, my dear?” Ari asked anxiously after the vet’s departure. “I’m not sure how I’d bear it, if one of them is ill.”

Crowley hugged him. “The vet says they are fine, Angel. I’m sure I was just mistaken. Never mind.”

Ari nodded. “Oh, I’m exhausted, but I don’t want to leave them just yet, even if Zaira is furious about the squishing. I think maybe there is a pear left. Perhaps she’ll forgive me for a pear, if I...How were your errands, my dear?”

“Um... _fine_ , they were fine. Listen Angel, I.. I have to go back into Oxford this evening, and, I’d like you to come with me. I know it’s a lot to ask of you... but... I need to see my therapist and... the thought of leaving you alone, for that length of time, is making me anxious. I was anxious the whole time we were apart today, and I don’t think I’d be able to concentrate if... anyway... Is that... is that possible? I’ll be with you the whole time, except while you are in the waiting room. And even then.. steps away. I.. I will you think about it?”

Ari swallowed and closed his eyes. “I... I can’t say I relish the thought. But... I _do_ want you to see your therapist. So... if that’s what you need, then, then I’ll try...”

* * *

“I so see what you mean about him,” Susan observed mildly. “There’s something about him that doesn’t quite come through in photographs.” She had just met Ari for the first time.

Crowley found himself smiling. “Yeah, yeah. He’s.. he’s just _everything,_ Susan. So, tell me what to do. Do I betray his trust, to keep him safe, or...”

“Let’s talk a bit about Ana first.”

Crowley blinked. “What? But, the question is...”

Susan sighed. “Crowley listen. This isn’t _about_ Ari. Not really. Yes, I know that the dissociation frightens you, and we are going to talk about that. And, I do think it might be worth asking Ari if he’d be willing to have a session with you and Rae, so you can understand his treatment a little better, and what your expectations should be. And, we are going to talk about _that_. But, ultimately, you didn’t come in here because Ari did anything to make you think he is acutely suicidal, you are here because Ana _told you_ he was acutely suicidal.”

Crowley folded his arms. “Well, she _is_ a doctor...”

“I know that,” Susan replied. “But she isn’t _just_ a doctor. She’s your friend. And... I think you would benefit from treating her as a friend, and not as _YOUR_ doctor. Generally speaking, hospitalisation has its benefits, yes, but, it has its negatives too. And from what you’ve said, there was no balance to this discussion. No specific treatment she thinks he needs to undergo there. No sign she’s weighed any specific benefit against what could be significant negatives. Am I wrong?”

Crowley thought. “Well... no. She just seemed to... she made it sound sort of _necessary_. Sort of inevitable. Like I was just dragging things out, leaving him in danger, while sort of false hoping? Can you use that as a verb, do you think? False hope?”

”No idea. I’ll pop down the road and ask the dictionary folk, shall I?” Susan replied mildly. “Or you could stop deflecting me. Why do you think Ana wants Ari in hospital?”  
  


”Well, I guess, just like me, she’s worried, and she’s got so much on her plate,” Crowley mused. “And, if he were in hospital then there’d be other people responsible for... _oh_.”

Susan broke in after a pause. “So, let me ask you this. What do you think would happen, if you told Ana, that hospitalisation of Ari is a question between Ari and HIS treatment team, not between you and your treatment team, and that you need Ana to step back from being on either? What would happen if you said that?”

“I... but, she said he’s not _safe_ ,” Crowley whispered.

“She did say that,” Susan agreed. “And, it’s a scary thought for you, I’m sure. But hospitals aren’t _magic_ , Crowley. They are semi-controlled environments, with a high concentration of expertise. But... they can also be very distressing places. They are places where freedoms are curtailed, and sources of comfort can be limited. Sometimes, it is worth it, but sometimes, it is not. And, you told me yourself that you were worried about the effect it might have on Ari. Particularly, if he doesn’t choose it for himself.”

Crowley restated his head in his hands. “I was up all night. I was googling about locked wards. What they are like. Some things that have happened there. About people being given electroconvulsive therapy against their will... there are some terrifying stories out there.”

  
“Locked wards are complicated,” Susan agreed. “And ECT is... well, it’s complicated too. Let’s talk about it more if the time ever comes. For now, I think it’s important to take care of yourself, Crowley. I honestly believe that sleeping and eating properly, and by _actually coming to sessions_ , will do much more good, for both of you, than googling worst case scenarios, and scheming. I think that asking to be more informed and involved on Ari’s treatment is okay, provided you are ready to take no for an answer. And I think second opinions are fine, but you should seek them from someone not named Ana Device.”

Crowley nodded. “Okay.... that’s..that is, in fact, a plan. And it’s a plan with no betrayal. Or electrodes. So, I like _that_ about it. But, what do I do _now_?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do I do tonight? _Now_?”

Susan shrugged. “Do you mean something like, ‘ _I’ve got a huge knot of anxiety in my chest, andcan’t bear it another minute, so what can I do to feel better immediately_?’ Something along those lines?”

Crowley nodded.

“And, I assume, if I recommend anything along the lines of meditating or mindfulness or yoga, you will ignore me, and call me a woo-woo hippy, behind my back?”

“I mean, yeah? I’d say it to your face... but, yeah.”

“And, if I suggest nothing, you’ll try to solve the problem with some volume of... I’m thinking,  gin?”

“ _Whisky_. Gin is for... oh I can’t be bothered thinking of a... Gin- drinkers. Gin is for gin-drinkers.

Susan sighed “Well then. Given those parameters, you might want to consider using your words? Telling your fiancé that you feel anxious, and sad, and could he possibly give you a hug, and maybe get you a bowl of ice-cream? He left the estate, for the first time in weeks, to make sure you could be here. I think you have a solid chance of hugs and icecream.”

At the end of the session, Crowley emerged to the sight of Ari and Susan’s receptionists bonding over her wedding magazines and mutual recent engagements.

“Hello, Anthony dear,” Ari said gently. “I’ve just been looking over these magazines with Jaycee, and I’ve found the loveliest flowers and... oh, my dear, are you all right?”

“Not, really no,” Crowley replied huskily, “I’m not.. I’m really, really not.”

At once, Ari’s arms were around him, and things were just a little bit better.  


Crowley looked up, at sweet, concerned blue eyes. He wanted to name his fears, unburdened himself of his secret nightmares, to seek absolution for even considering breaking his word. To talk about walking into the woods. To talk about the Gabriel’s gun. To talk about Ari’s blood.

  
”I suddenly really, really want ice-cream,” is what he said.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Brief discussion of pregnancy and pregnancy loss, brief discussion of forced hospitalisation, oblique reference to suicide

“Just how much ice cream did you buy, Angel?” Crowley asked, blinking at what looked like a rather over-stuffed canvas bag.

“You never ask me to get you things, so I’m taking advantage of it, my dear,” Ari replied, smiling.

“How long do you expect this lot to last?”

Ari shrugged. “Well, it has to last at least five hours. I’ll set the ice-maker when we get home, but these things take time.”

“Angel, don’t you think you’ve  overdone it, just a little? There must be half a freezer’s worth there. And, we don’t even _have_ an icecream maker.”

“We do! It’s that thing in the back of the cupboard that you thought was a food processor. And, _no_. Now that you’ve let slip that ice-cream is your comfort food, I’ve made it my mission to ensure we’re never out.”

“You’ll kill us both with this lot.” But, Crowley couldn’t help but smile. 

True to his word, Ari _did_ set about getting the ‘actually-an-ice cream-maker’ to work, when they arrived home. Not before, however, he had settled Crowley, fetched him a slightly unnecessary blanket, and a bowl of ice cream. 

The blanket was not the soft woolly one, which Ari himself preferred, but rather, the satiny quilt that Crowley adored the texture of. The one he loved to run between his fingers, a habit he has no idea had been noticed.   


Additionally, the icecream had been ridiculously covered in rainbow sprinkles.  


These two things, taken together, had Crowley plummet even more deeply into love than he’d previously thought possible. 

  
  


“So, you are just making your own icecream, now?” Crowley asked, mainly just to keep Ari talking, so he could listen to him natter. Listen to the way he hummed, in between sentences, when he was busy and thinking.

“Well, I don’t see why not,” Ari mused, obligingly. “I have a device called an ice-cream maker, a set of instructions in a language I can read. Actually, in three languages I can read, in a pinch. And I have all the equipment, and ingredients there listed...”

“And, you’ve got cows...” Crowley pointed out, aimlessly, trying to extract some icecream from below the sprinkles.

“Neither of which are producing milk, dear,” Ari muttered peering at the instructions. “They only produce milk when- oh dear, I wonder if I need glasses?- when they have a baby to feed, dearest, and, since that is not likely then...oh!”

“You do need glasses,” Crowley muttered, but this was not enough to restart the nattering. “Angel?”

“Oh... well, I was just thinking. I was wondering if we were doing the cows an injustice. Perhaps they _want_ to have babies... I mean, not _yet_ , in Zaira’s case, obviously... she’s far too young to know what she wants ... but maybe some day... and oh! How would we even _tell_ if that was something she wanted? Or, something that Selene wants _now_... Are there signs we should be looking out for, I guess, is what I’m wondering...? Maybe I should ring the vet and ask... something like _nesting_?”

Crowley snorted, “You might be thinking of birds, Angel,” said lightly, “But, by all means call Leslie, if you are worried. That is what we pay him for.”

Prompted by this, Crowley decided to check his own phone. There was a missed call and a voicemail from Dana. He listened. He sighed heavily.

“Everything all right?” Ari asked a little tentatively, nodding at the phone. 

“Everything’s fine,” Crowley replied, quickly. Not _really_ stopping to think if that were true.

The message was from Dana’s office. Amber had been released on parole. Which was _fine_. He was _fine_. 

“It wasn’t Newt, was it?” Ari asked. “I’m afraid he hasn’t answered a call, or text, from me in days... and, I know I’m _a bit_ of a pest, but _still_ , I am considering feeling a little put out about it.”

Crowley sighed. “Not Newt, no. And, I wouldn’t take it personally, Angel. I think Newt found the whole Moira thing a bit tough... I’m sure he just needs to clear his head. Anyway. You were talking about birds.”

Ari blinked. “Was I? As in women or as in avians? I can never tell with you.”

Crowley smiled. “As in _nesting cows_ , my love.”

“Oh, I was just being silly,” Ari replied. “I was just sad about Zaira never having a calf, if she wanted one. And about Selene, too. All those babies she would have had over the years... they all would have been taken away from her. And, now that she could have it differently, maybe _heal_ by it, she _can’t_... if that makes sense... And, I suppose, that’s just how it is. Did you ever, by the way? Want children? I mean, I knew it was never on the cards for me... But, you like women, sometimes... and you must have thought about it...did you ever?”

Crowley blinked, and in doing so, noticed his eyes were hot. 

_Why the fuck am I upset about this?_

_Oh... Warlock Darling. The little boy in the other car, who..._

“Nope,” Crowley replied, in what he hoped was a normal voice. “I like kids, but more in a ‘ _am a kid_ ’ way than a ‘ _I should be in charge of kids_ ’ way. And honestly, I’d never even have considered it, with anyone else, but _you_...”

Ari’s brow furrowed. “Oh? Why? I don’t understand...”

Crowley sighed. “Well, if someone had asked me if I’d ever been in love, before now, before you? Well, I would have said yes, and I would have believed it. But, before you, I don’t think I’ve ever been with someone, who... Look. You know what my favourite blanket is. Impossible things feel...less impossible, when someone _just knows_ what your favourite blanket is, without you telling them. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but I can’t explain it better than that. “

“Well, whether it makes sense or not, it DOES sound like it’s a very sweet thing for you to say,” Ari observed gently. “Now, eat your ice-cream, before it turns into ice-cream soup.”

“ _Ice-cream soup_?? What...?”

“You know, when it melts, but before it’s _completely melted..._ and it’s sort of... soupy...? Ice-cream soup.”

“No, it’s... _no_! You can’t just _name_ stages of melted icecream and then just...” Crowley stopped then, because he didn’t even believe in what he was saying.

Frankly, his Angel could name whatever he pleased.

* * *

Newt carefully set a plate in front of Ana, and then, frowned sympathetically when she gagged and rushed out of the room.

She returned, a minute later, her lips wet from water she’d drunk from the bathroom tap, cupped in her hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Newt said. “I meant to bring you a glass of water. You were too quick for me.”

Ana smiled. “I’m basically a speed-vomit champion, at this point. Don’t worry about the water. I’m sorry I threw up at the sight of your dinner. It looks delicious, I swear... it’s just these damn hormones, or whatever.”

“I know, love. I wasn’t put out, at all. I’m fine. Just worried about you. How was your day? I hope you are taking it easy. That locum is starting next week, isn’t he?”

“He is, yes,” she replied, “So, I’ve been straightening out all my notes, and treatment plans, and, just... everything! Feels like I’ll never be done.”

“My poor Ana,” Newt said softly, giving her a kiss on the cheek. The vomiting was starting to have an effect. Her cheek bones were more prominent. Newt felt a faint strand of anxiety at the thought.

“Not sure why I bother, though,” Ana continued in a low voice, as if to herself. “Not as if anyone _listens_ to me...”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, _Crowley_ ,” Ana replied, darkly. “I’ve been trying to convince him to get Ari settled in a hospital. And he said he’d think about it, but then he texted that he spoke to his therapist, and he isn’t going to do it. So, I’m back to square one.”

Newt frowned. “I don’t... _hospital_? What’s wrong with Ari? Does he need another surgery?”

“A mental hospital,” Ana sighed. “I’ve been thinking, and it’s one thing, when I’m just down the road, and can get there quickly, but, if I’m spending the end of this pregnancy in hospital, then Ari needs to be closer to emergency care. Ambulance response times out here just aren’t...it’s for the _best_. I’m trying to organise a Section 3 committal, but...”

“Wait, are you saying you are getting Ari _sectioned?!_ ” Newt replied, stunned. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Bloody hell, Ana! I know you’ve been struggling, but _bloody hell_. No wonder I haven’t heard from Ari or Crowley, in a few days... they must be _furious_ with us.”

Ana looked chagrined. “Ah no, sorry.. that’s _me_. I blocked their numbers, on your phone. I just... wanted Crowley to get a taste of what it could be like dealing with Ari, without either of us dashing over their to help, and...”

“Ana, Crowley‘s my _boss_! I can’t just _not take his calls_. He’ll fire me. Hell, maybe he’s already fired me, and I just don’t know it because I couldn’t get the call!”

Ana shook her head. “He wouldn’t _dare_ fire you, and, even _if_ he did, I make plenty of money for us, and with twins, ONE of us probably isn’t going to be working, for a while anyway, and, I assumed it would be you, because your job is less...”

“What? Less _meaningful_?” Newt snapped, not liking the edge in his own voice, trying to calm himself down.

“You said it, not me,” Ana replied. “I was _going to say_ I make more money, so it makes sense, but...”

“I got a raise, actually,” Newt interrupted.

Ana rolled her eyes. “Oh, can we not, with the hyper-masculinity bullshit, Newt? We can sort out childcare later...”

“My mother!” Newt interrupted, suddenly. “I hate her working than horrible factory job, she could move here, help us with childcare, and, with both of us working, we could pay her, and the babies would be with family.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Newt. That woman isn’t watching our kids. She isn’t _meeting_ our kids, if I get my way...”

“Well, you _won’t_. She’s my mother, and those are _my_ kids, too, and she’ll be a part of their lives if I say so, and I do.”

Ana hissed. “Oh, so now my opinion doesn’t count for shit with you, either? I am _so fucking sick_ of everyone ignoring me, and not listening to me, and...”

“Well, you’ve been _awful_!” The words tumbled out of Newts mouth and showed no signs of slowing down. “You’ve been _hysterical_ , and _mean_ , and, now you are threatening you abuse your power to lock up your friends! I mean, quote apart from it being unethical, it’s... _stupid_. You have _met_ Crowley’s lawyers, yes? You think they won’t go after your medical license, if you cross them? Honestly, I’m not sure they’d be wrong to, at this point! And, if you can’t work as a doctor, and I get fired, then what will our kids do for food, huh?”

Ana looked at him, incredulously. “It’s not going to matter, Newt. It’s not going to matter, cause _the twins are going to die_. Dead babies do not cost much to feed. I mean, why do none of you get this? I’ve been there for Ari and Crowley, through all their fucking drama and tragedy, but, when I have a fucking life-changing tragedy, unfolding in my bloody uterus? They just suck up all the oxygen in the room, with their _television interviews_ , and fucking _engagement_.”

“The babies _are not_ going to die,” Newt replied, voice shaking. “You don’t _know_ that.”

“Somebody has to _realistic_ , Newt. Between your mother crocheting jellyfish, and Ari and Crowley threatening baby showers... I’m walking around, trying to be ready to lose and bury my children, at any moment. _At every moment_. So, I’m sorry I’ve been ‘ _awful_ ’, was it? And ‘ _hysterical’?_ ”

“Ana, I’m sorry... I shouldn’t have...”

Ana held up her hand. “Just... just get out. Just sleep somewhere else. Just _BE_ somewhere else. Just go.”

Newt went.

He went to sit in his car. He texted first Ari, and then Crowley, for support, or at least for a place to stay. 

When neither answered, he started driving.

He’d been driving, for about ninety minutes, before he’d remembered that Crowley and Ari’s numbers were blocked on his phone, and they might have answered his texts after all.  


  
After ten more miles, he also realised he hadn’t handled the situation with Ana very well at all.

At the next exit, he turned around and began heading back north.

A mile or so north of Newt, a lorry driver, heading south, began to weave a little in his lane, eyelids drooping.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: description of motor vehicle accident

None of the ancient mysteries, held secret by any of the cults of old, could possibly be as profound as watching his Crowley, sleepy.

Sleepy, and vulnerable, no flash, no swagger, just gentle, trusting, golden eyes. 

“Oh, come here,” his Crowley murmured. “My beautiful Angel. _Beautiful_.” 

Ari smiled. “No, you come here, my love. Let me hold you.”

Crowley whined. Then acquiesced. Then snuggled.

Ari grunted with the force of a sudden gut-punch of love. Love and lust. Lust, laced with anxiety, and the stomach-churning pain of memory, yes. But, lust all the same. Perhaps he never would quite untangle arousal from trauma, but, perhaps he could move forward anyway. Perhaps he could _try_.

He idly brushed his fingers along the planes of Crowley’s hips, both thinking and not thinking, enjoying the intersections of bone, of muscle, of sinew. 

Then, Crowley stiffened suddenly, and Ari drew back his hand as of burnt.

They sought each other’s eyes, Ari’s mind staggering around for words of apology. 

Then, Crowley spoke. “Angel, I... that phone call before... the one that wasn’t from Newt, it was about...”

Ari’s phone rang.

“You should get that...” Crowley murmured.

Ari didn’t move.

“So, seriously, Angel. Get it. I’m fine. It’s nothing. Just... ticklish...”

Reluctantly, Ari reached for the phone. “Oh! This time it _is_ Newt.”

Crowley lurched forward and snatched the phone from Ari’s unresisting hand. “Actually, Angel, let me get it! I’ll explain later, trust me.” 

Ari watched Crowley answer the phone, watched his face twist in confusion.

“Wait... slow down... I don’t... Newt! I don’t understand you! Where are you, exactly?”

Something was wrong.

_Ana_?

Ari felt his stomach plunge, thought of those fuzzy ultrasound images he’d looked at, taking care to hold the thermal paper by the edges, just making out profiles, thinking he could just make out a tiny copy of Ana’s nose. Were those little sparks of life gone? How could he ever help his friends in the face of such sadness.

Crowley rubbed his forehead. “Fuck.... but you’re okay.... yeah?.... near _which_ exit?.... okay, okay... don’t worry. Just share your location and we’ll figure it out. We’re coming.”

Crowley put down the phone, sighed, and then looked up at Ari. “Okay... so... the reason I didn’t want you to take Newt’s call is that, Ana has some... opinions... about your treatment plan and...”

“Never mind that bit,” Ari interrupted. “Is Ana okay? What’s happened?”

Crowley blinked. “Oh, Ana’s fine. They had a fight and Newt went for a drive. Some idiot in a lorry jackknifed, missed Newt by inches, if Newt is to be believed, and took out a few cars behind Newt. He pulled over a bit up the road and says he’s forgotten how to drive. Think he’s in shock, but he’s not hurt. I said we’d come pick him up. If we can figure out _how_ , that is. I suppose the motorway’s closed...”

“Oh... god,” Ari exhaled heavily, his brain scrambling. “Well... well, yes, of course we must pick him up. Poor Newt. I’m sure I couldn’t drive after seeing that either. Only... oh, my poor dear, you’ve had such a day, you must stay here. I’ll.... I’ll go... it’s an emergency, after all, and oh... how hard can driving at night be really and...”

Crowley shook his head, forcing himself out of bed, as if that were final. “Oh no. No. I don’t trust Ana hasn’t done something stupid, like having your license revoked, and there’s no way I’m giving the police so much as a scrap of an excuse to... no. No. Not happening. I’m coming, and that’s final. I suppose you don’t have to...”

“Well, I’m certainly not sending you out alone.” Ari replied. “Only, why would Ana revoke my drivers license, of all things? Is this about me needing glasses? Because, I DID pass an eye test, and...”

“No, no Angel,” Crowley sighed, rushing over to give him a reassuring peck on the cheek before returning to dressing. “It’s... there’s stuff I haven’t wanted to worry you with. But... tomorrow? Yeah? Let’s just, get this sorted first, and get a good night sleep.”

Ari sighed. “Oh, because _that’s_ not concerning at all, but... okay. I trust you. Let’s figure out how to get to Newt.”

* * *

Crowley scrambled through the motorway embankment, trying to ignore the weeds, blackberry and nettles scraping against him. A quick internet search had revealed that the accident was serious. The motorway was closed, and traffic was being diverted away from the section of motorway where Newt had stopped. So, they had parked as close as they could, on a B road, and now Crowley was going cross-country.

He’d left Ari in the car. “You aren’t scrambling over noise walls and through bushes, on uneven ground, in the dark, with a broken wrist, Angel!,” he’d scolded, when Ari had wanted to come with him.  


And, that had been most of it. The rest had been he wasn’t sure that this was _legal_ and... well. 

He was dressed all in black, because that was what a random selection of his wardrobe had served up, but he was dimly aware he had accidentally dressed for what he would have perceived as a lark, not that long ago.  


  
A _caper_.  


When did the world get so _grim_?

He spotted the flashing blue and the flood lights of the accident site, before he spotted Newt. He almost turned back, assuming he’d missed him in the dark. But then he spotted the car in the breakdown lane, and, halfway up the embankment, a hunched figure.

“Newt?” Crowley picked his way closer. “Newt? You okay, mate?”

Newt turned to face him. It was too dark to really see his expression, Crowley could just make out the light reflecting of the rim of the edge of his glasses. 

“I think someone died,” Newt said. “Or someones. They closed the highway. Tried to clear everybody out of this part... I _hid_ from them. Made them think I’d abandoned the car.”

Crowley sat down. “Well, that’s okay, isn’t it? You aren’t doing any harm, are you? Just sitting here? Not hurting anybody.”

“Not _helping_ anybody, either, am I?” Newt whispered. “I didn’t either... _help_ , that is. I meant to.... but, I don’t know... I felt sick.. so, I threw up. Hope you aren’t sitting in it. And, by the time I finished, the police and ambulances were already here. Except, that can’t be right? Can it? I can’t have been vomiting _that_ long... so I must have just sat here. Not helping, not first aiding... not even dialing. Completely fucking useless, as always.”

Crowley touched his shoulder gently. “Nah mate... it’s the people behind the accident who call, not the people who just missed being taken out. It’s the people that see it, and slam on the brakes, and swear. _They_ do the calling. And one of them will be an off-duty nurse, or intern, or something, and _they_ do the helping. You, you can just sit on the embankment. That’s okay. It all still gets done.”

“Never did anything when I was small either,” Newt mused. “When I was a kid. When my dad...”

“Well, you were a kid, weren’t you?” Crowley answered softly. “Kids, kids can’t do anything about that stuff. They aren’t supposed to, no one thinks they should.”

Newt shook his head. “But... but I’m not a kid anymore and I’m still like that. I just sit on the embankment... and...” he swallowed “...and I wasn’t unconscious when Gabriel Bannerman put Ari in the car. I... I heard them... I heard Ari screaming my name... all muffled. But, I didn’t help... I didn’t even look... I just... And, what happened... if I’d done something...”

Crowley felt a little like he might vomit himself, now. He took a breath. “Yeah... Newt. You forget I was there, so this routine won’t work on me. I saw the state you were in. You couldn’t have fought off a butterfly. Let alone that fucking psychopath. You’d be dead, if you tried. That’s all that would be different.”

“Still should have tried,” Newt muttered. “That’s what you do for your friends. That’s what _men_ do. Fathers. Providers. In the trenches, like. But not me. Because I’m a coward.”

Crowley looked at the sky. Almost no stars. “Yeah. Fuck that. Fuck all of that. Nothing would be better, if you were dead. Do you have any idea, how many nights Ari cried himself to sleep, specifically because, in his head, he got you hurt that day. If you’d _actually died,_ we’d have never got him back. I know it. You aren’t a coward. You’re just a bloke. We’re all just blokes.”

“You aren’t,” Newt sniffed.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You _drove_ that day, to save my life, even though you were terrified. You were a fucking hero. I was _nothing_... and I’m nothing again. I’ve just sat here for ages... for hours.”

Crowley wrapped an arm very carefully around his shoulders. “Oh well, you’re in shock, mate. Or, like triggered, maybe? I don’t know.But you’re brain is doing a _thing_. And, we are all just blokes. And that’s... thats just... we’re all just jumped-up monkeys, running software creating by trial and error. I’m not a hero, any more than you are a coward. We are both neither. Or both are both. Or something. Fuck, I’m bad at pep-talks.”

“Nah, you’re doing great,” Newt replied breathily. “This is some quality comforting, you are doing. I very-nearly, almost, buy that I’m not a piece of shit.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Crowley said. “Up. I’m getting you back to Ari. He’s much better at this feelings stuff. He’ll have you right, in a minute. We’ll just leave the car. Someone will tow it, and it will turn up. Got your wallet and phone though?”

Newt patted his pockets, vaguely. “Got my wallet... my phone... I might have dropped it. Put it down somewhere...?”

“Hang on, I’ll ring it.” Crowley said, dialing Newt.

Nothing happened.

For some reason nothing happening made Newt burst into tears. “Blocked!” he moaned.

“I’ll check the car,” Crowley said, sliding the rest of the way down the embankment. Sure enough he spotted the phone in the passenger seat. “Looks like Ana’s sorry about that fight. She’s called a bunch.”

He handed Newt the phone. 

Newt held it in his hand as if he didn’t recognize it. “Ana’s going to try to section Ari. You need to get ahead of her, boss. Call those lawyers of yours, or something. That’s what we fought about. Don’t let her.”

Crowley sighed. “Yeah, it’s okay, Newt. I’m on it.”

“She kicked me out.”

“She’s called _a bunch_ ,” Crowley said. “I’m sure she’s sorry. But you can stay with us tonight, if you like. We’ll sort this out tomorrow. Oh hey! We can do an intervention! I was just thinking about getting back into capers and I’ve been to tonnes! Though, I’ve always been the one being intervened _with_? intervened _at_? Actually interventions are kind of crap, aren’t they? Come on, though, okay? Let’s... let’s go home.”

Newt nodded, but even as they walked back along the embankment, he kept looking back, over his shoulder. At the flashing blue lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a moment to quickly thank my commenters (again!) for their support. There have been some enormously insightful an thoughtful comments on the last few chapters, which I am so awed and honoured that people have taken the time to write. Thank you!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: references to past self harm/ cutting, references to past car accident(s). Dissociative symptoms/ suicidal ideation. It’s bad, basically.

Ana watched the video again.

_ It might not be his car. _

But she knew it was. She knew it was because of the find-my-phone app. His _phone_ was there. His phone hadn’t moved in hours.

_Police investigators are still investigating. Still clearing the scene. Multiple fatalities._

She watched the video again, but you couldn’t see. Couldn’t see what happened to his car.

_The car. It might not be his car._

But it _was_ his car. Because the _phone_.

The phone hadn’t moved in hours.

She rang the phone. 

The phone rang out.

She watched the video.

She couldn’t _see_.

She _couldn’t_.

“I can’t...”

_One more time. Car. Swerve. Truck. Roll._

“I can’t do this.”

Ana turned her phone off.“Can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t.

Can’t think.

Can’t do this.

Can’t do this on my own.

_Why did I think I could do this?_

She crept to the window.

A car was pulling up.

A police car.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. She crept out the back door.

The moon was out, gibbous. Waning. It was cold. It was June. 

_  
Why was it still cold?_

She walked.

She felt a spider web break across her face.   
  


She kept walking.

Something, some animal, screamed in the night in some field. Too high and sharp to betray a direction. Ana laughed. Ana screamed back.

She’d forgotten her shoes.

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this by myself. I don’t have _shoes_.” 

She walked through the hedge. The ground was muddy. A twig got caught between her toes. She picked it out from between her toes and found she couldn’t throw it away. So, she stuck it behind her ear.

_I cannot do this_

_Cannot do this by myself_

_I do not have shoes._

Hog-back wood. 

  
Hog-back wood in the moonlight.  


She pulled her robe around her. It was to short. Getting to tight. She’d lost the belt somewhere. She should have knotted it to the belt loop. She meant to. She never did.

She walked in time to the pulse in her ears and thought the words over and over.

... _I do not have shoes_.

She lost her footing, when the ground gave way, gave way into the little creek.  There was no ground, where she expected it to be, and so she fell. Her head bounced against a flat stone.

“I can’t do this.... shoes.”

She laughed again. She screamed again.

She tried to keep going... _somewhere_.. but her robe was wet now. Clinging to her legs. And her hair. Clinging to her face. And, her ankle no longer took her weight. 

_Can’t do this..._

There was really nothing for it. 

And, she was tired. It was time to lie down for a while.

* * *

“I don’t understand,” Ari said softly.

He looked from Crowley and Newt, seated across the table, a cooling mug of tea in front of each of them.  


It was late. They were all so tired.

“Why would Ana _do_ that? She’s not even _treating_ me... except I guess , she’s in charge of the fracture. But, I don’t think she’s had so much as a conversation with Rae, or....”

“That fact isn’t lost us, Angel,” Crowley replied, tiredly. 

Ari caught Newt’s eyes narrowing, ever so slightly, at the use of the word ‘us’, and it made him even more uneasy.

Crowley pressed on, however, not really glancing at Newt. “Look, Angel, the important thing is that I don’t want you to _worry_ about it.”

“It’s hard not to,” Ari said, unhappily. “I just don’t understand _why_ she would do this. I know I’ve done some... alarming things...and, I’m terribly sorry, for upsetting all of you, but I’ve really been trying. I don’t think I could try harder. Why would she do something so _hurtful_ , when she must know I’m doing my best? “

“Well, it’s not a punishment,” Newt interrupted softly. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t agree with her. But, she’s doing it because she _cares._ and because she’s so, so _worried_ about everything. I don’t think it’s fair to assume she’s being petty, or anything.”

Crowley hissed, darkly. “Oh yes. Heaven forfend we be unfair to her.”

“She is under a lot of pressure,” Newt replied, a little louder. “One less disastrous scenario to worry about, would, _actually,_ be a big relief to her. We can’t lose sight of that...”

Ari sighed shakily. “Newt, I adore Ana. And I would do _almost_ anything to help her feel better, but you can’t possibly ask me to allow myself to be placed in a locked ward. I know she wants me safe but, I feel most safe _here_ , at home. And, and that’s still a little strange for me. I spent so long not feeling safe anywhere, least of all in my home. But here, with Anthony... I know what it’s like to feel safe somewhere. To feel like I belong somewhere. To be taken away..I... I couldn’t bear it... please...”

“It’s not happening, Angel,” Crowley murmured. “I won’t let her.”

“Except, _you_ thought about it, too,” Newt interrupted. “Ana told me that you only decided not to support her because _your therapist_ said it was a bad idea.”

Ari inhaled tightly. “I’m sure Ana must have misunderstood. Anthony would NOT support such a plan, and he certainly wouldn’t discuss such a thing with Ana and his therapist, but not with me.”

Newt frowned. “Ana isn’t a liar, and yeah, she’s been awful lately, and I told her so, but, if she said she discussed it with Crowley, and he said he’d think about it, then that’s what happened. And, perhaps, we can take a step back from demonising her.”

“Frankly,” Crowley growled. “I do not think she needs help from us on that front. She’s done a pretty great job at being a crappy person all by herself, lately. Pregnant or not. I’ve done _a lot_ for her, for _both_ of you, and she could stand to be a little bit more grateful.”

Newts eyes flashed and he rose to his feet. “Oh, now, see here! You, Anthony Crowley, are going to lecture Ana and I on being crappy people?! The reason she’s so freaked out about Ari, is because _she_ had to deal with him cutting himself, after _YOU_ screamed and broke a window, and then fucked off and left him. But you? _You_ get forgiven, _instantly_. So yes, Ana’s said some not-great stuff, and she considered a not-great plan, but I won’t stand here and hear her called a crappy person by a fucking murderer!”

“Newt, stop!” Ari gasped, standing up as well. “ _Please_. You’re upset and you don’t know what you are saying. You _know_ Crowley wasn’t at fault for that car accident. And, it was years ago. And, it’s no surprise you’d bring it up tonight, you poor thing, but you need to...”

“Oh, I don’t mean _that_ ,” Newt replied, not looking at Ari, but instead at Crowley, who’d grown quiet, and pale. “I mean Enoch Cryer.”

Ari blinked. “What on earth could you mean? Enoch Cryer isn’t even dead, Newt!”

Newt ignored him. “I’m right, aren’t I, Crowley? When we got here the day of that interview, you threatened to tell Ana _what was really going on_. And later, when I got upset and went outside, I noticed that Eric was trying really hard to get me back inside, as fast as possible, and Eric isn’t _normally_ insensitive. And then, I saw Dana filming me though the windows, and I remembered thinking that was really unkind, and Dana isn’t _normally_ unkind to me. Except, they weren’t being insensitive and unkind, were they Crowley? They were trying to protect me, by giving me an alibi. Because at the exact time we were baring our souls, Enoch Cryer was gunned down in the street. Because you and B put out a hit.”

“Newt, but that’s ridiculous!” Ari snapped. “You are clearly too upset to think straight! Crowley wouldn’t _murder_ anybody! I _know_ violent men, I’ve lived with a violent man for half my life. I _KNOW_ my Anthony would never hurt anyone.”

Newt still didn’t look at Ari, he kept his eyes fixed on Crowley. “You hear that, Crowley? You going to tell him the truth? _No_?! And you treat _Ana_ like a monster. Tell him who you are Crowley! Tell him what happens to people who make you angry.”

Crowley stood up slowly. “Newt. You need to stop.”

“Or what, boss? What are you going to do, if I don’t stop?”

“Newt,” Crowley said softly. “You need to stop, and you need to go to bed. And, we will talk about this in the morning. _Calmly_. Like _adults_.”

“Talk about _what_ , though?” Ari interrupted. “I’m not sure where Newt’s got this idea, but it’s nonsense on its face. Cryer can’t even be dead, because Dana would have told us, and...”

Something about Crowley’s face cut Ari’s train of thought off dead. 

“Anthony. None of this is _true_ , is it? Nothing that Newt is saying is true?”

Silence hung in the kitchen. Ari’s heart thudded. No one would look at him.

“Angel, I...”

“No.”

They looked at him then. Newt’s mouth trembling, Crowley’s eyes large and unreadable. 

“Tell me this isn’t true.”

Crowley said nothing. 

Ari licked his lips. His mouth was bone dry, even as saliva started to pool under his tongue. He was going to be sick. “No... I can’t... no. I need a minute...no.”

Ari stumbled from the kitchen.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Hospital setting, discussion of injuries, discussion of hospital admission and procedures and complications of pregnancy.

“Angel... Ari... I can’t really imagine how you must feel, right now. But...I think you should hear me out. No. No that’s... I want a chance to _explain_.”

Crowley leaned against the door. His mind was, very unhelpfully, engaging in a guided tour of all the most difficult conversations of his life.

The way his father’s mouth had twisted, in the conversation about how fifteen-year-old Crowley had been found in bed with a man. A man ten years older than Crowley, as it happened, although no-one had cared much about _that_ at the time. Even Crowley himself.

The way his mother had pursed her lips, when Crowley had asked to speak at his grandfather’s funeral. After _the accident_. She _COULD_ have just told him that he would be stuck on the burn ward for the occasion, and, indeed, for the next three months.  


  
She HADN’T stopped there, however. Moreover, she’d bundled up a whole deluge of disdain and disgust into the words _inappropriate_ ’, and ‘ _disrespectful_ ’. Their relationship hasn’t ever really recovered. 

“My kingdom for a good role models”, he muttered.

He was surprised when Ari answered.

“Then, I think you’d best come in, Anthony. I can’t imagine you’d want to shout such an explanation though the door.”

Given permission, Crowley was forced to realise just how terrified he was. He longed to beg off, and go away to strategise.  


  
A year, or two, should do it.

But... too late for that.

There was an acrid smell to air in the bedroom, as Crowley carefully opened the door.  Ari had vomited. The thought made Crowley want to cry. Want to _run_.

But he couldn’t. Because if he did...

  
Crowley took a deep breath. “Angel, the _most_ important thing, is that you _are_ safe. I would _die_ before I hurt you, I swear it. And, I’ll do whatever it takes to help you _feel_ safe. Anything you ask. Up to and including, turning myself in, once I’ve explained all this. “

Ari was sitting on the bed, wrapped in a soft grey cardigan, crying softly. 

Crowley sat down next to him, but not too close- didn’t dare to touch him, wondered if he’d ever be allowed to touch him again. He felt despair at the thought, but brutally stepped on it. His despair didn’t matter right now.

_Keep going._

“Next most important thing, is that I’m _sorry_. I _have_ kept things from you. Tried to handle things for you. I wanted to spare you pain. Let you focus on yourself, and feeling _well_. Feeling _better_. That’s an explanation, not an excuse. I just don’t want you to think that I think you are weak and incapable. I _know_ you aren’t.”

“I needed to know,” Ari whispered. This voice sounded small somehow. Achingly young. Crowley’s heart began to break.

”Yeah, that brings me to the third most important thing. Without trying to minimise it... Newt has got the wrong impression. It’s... it’s not _as bad_ as it sounds.”

Ari wouldn’t look at him.

_Hang in there, Crowley,_ he thought to himself. _What is it everybody is always telling you? Use your words.  
_

_  
Use my fucking words??! How about ‘Angel, I’m not murdering people **at** you, I murdered **one** person **for** you’? That should do it, right?!_

Crowley made a mental note to punish his brain with half a bottle of cheap vodka for _that_ particular piece of unhelpfulness.

  
_Now, keep going._

”Angel, I know you suspected that Enoch was behind Michael’s death. And... you were right. She didn’t just OD. We aren’t sure exactly how... but we know that Enoch was involved, and that she was actually killed by a man called Luke Phero. But, apparently, Enoch didn’t tell Luke that Michael was important to B, and that he’d be making a powerful enemy. At some point, someone _did_ tell Luke, I’m not sure who, maybe B, maybe Dana. And Luke undertook to... kill Enoch, to make things right. After this point I found out that _something_ was in the works, but I didn’t know exactly what it was, or how or why. And, yet, I didn’t ask. And, I didn’t stop it...

”...I made sure we had alibis and I suppose I helped Dana, B and Eric with one too. I didn’t _really_ know what has happening until afterwards. But... I don’t think I would have stopped it, if I _had_ known. I don’t think I could have, actually. B is more powerful than me in certain circles. But... I _wouldn’t_ have. This man... he came for our family. And he didn’t stop. And... I did once ask B if she’d have him killed for me, after Oxford. But she said no. Michael changed things.”

Ari looked up. “Oh.. poor Michael. She didn’t deserve to die... if only she’d never heard of me.”

“Please, don’t blame yourself, my poor, sweet Angel. Michael’s death isn’t your fault. And neither is Gabriel’s, or Enoch’s, for that matter. Their actions are on them, and mine are on me. I honestly believe that you would never have been safe with Enoch alive. But, what you said about finally feeling safe in your own home? I know I’ve damaged that. And that breaks my heart. I’ll never not regret that...

”...So, listen, Angel. This is _your_ home, _your_ town with _your_ library. _Your_ _life_. If you need me out of any of those things, to feel safe, that’s what will happen. I’ll change the deed, I will put enough money for you to live on, the rest of your life, into an account under your name. And, even if you need to never be in the same room with me, ever again, I will always love you, and i will make sure you get everything you need.”

Ari inhaled shakily. “Crowley I....”

Ari’s phone rang. 

“....Oh, for the love of... it’s the middle of the night! Who could that even be?”

“It’s.... Adam Young?” Crowley replied, reading the phone display. “Why would.... why does Adam Young have your phone number?”

“The kids like to text me for book recommendations,” Ari sighed . “I didn’t see the harm in it...”

The phone rang out.

“I should call him back...”

Crowley blinked. “We are, kind of, in the middle of something.”

“He’s a child, calling in the middle of the night, Anthony,” Ari replied tiredly. “Of course, we must call him back.”  


He dialled, set the phone on speaker and placed the phone between them.

”Hello, Adam? I’ve got you on speaker with...”

” _Mr Fell?! You have to help, I need Mr Pulsifer’s number, and, I’m sorry to call so late, but I didn’t know who else would have it, cause I can’t call mum, cause I’m supposed to be in my room, but Dog needed a walk, and I’m in the woods, and I found Dr Device, but she won’t talk to me, even though I think she’s awake, and she’s only in her robe, and she’s all wet and muddy and she’s bleeding, and I think something **bad** happened, but...”_

Crolwey snatched up the phone. “Listen to me, you little monster. If you’ve been reading the tabloids, and decided to call Ari,  with this revolting excuse for a prank, I’ll...”

” _But, it’s_ _not a prank_!” Adam wailed. “ _Why would I prank about something like this? It’s really true, and I need help, and please help, I need help, and I don’t know what to do..._ ”

Ari took the phone back. “Adam, where are you, exactly. Hog-back Wood?”

” _Yeah, just down from the path, near that big tree? The craggily one, like a pirate ships prow? Where the creek bed is_?”

”Okay, Adam, I know just where you mean, thank you. Now, dear boy, this is what you must do. First, switch on the light on your phone, so I can find you. I’ll be there as soon as I can. But, while you are waiting, you are going to call for an ambulance. I will contact Mr Pulsifer, as well as your mother, because she will find out anyway, but she won’t be as cross with me. All right, Adam? We will be with you soon. Switch on your light, and call for an ambulance now.”

Adam gratefully hung up, and Ari met Crowley’s eyes, at last. “I’m afraid, against all odds, we must table this discussion, my dear. I need to go find Newt, and go to Ana and Adam. I... I don’t know how we fix this, exactly... but, I know I want to try. But, just now, I have to leave.”

Crowley nodded, shakily. “I need to come. I want to come with you..”

“But, you’ve had such a day, my dear,” Ari sighed. “Remember how ill you got when last you burned the candle at both ends? Also, you just shouted at Adam, and Newt apparently thinks you are The Godfather. Get some rest, and let things calm down a little.”

Crowley could only nod, again, reluctantly.

On his way out the door, however, Ari suddenly turned back, and kissed him on the forehead. “I will come home to you, as soon as I can, my dear. I... I’m rattled. But I’m not going to run. I still believe in us, and... and, I’m coming back.”

* * *

Newt was collapsed in a chair, head lowered, and so Ari found himself gently patting Ana’s hand, as machines beeped, and A&E nurses bustled in and out.

”I’m sorry,” Ana whispered to him. “Ari, I’m so sorry.”

  
“Hush, my dear,” Ari whispered back. “I’m perfectly fine.”

”I couldn’t lose you, as well. I couldn’t _bear_ it.”

”I understand, my dear,” Ari replied, not sure that he did, but determined to proceed as if he was sure. “Don’t trouble yourself about that, now.”

A very small woman trundled in, with an ultrasound machine on a rolling cabinet. She was so small that the whole assemblage, almost her height.

Ana started to cry at the sight.

”Let’s take a look then, Ana,” the very small woman, said kindly, but firmly. Her name, judging by her name tag was Cheri.

Ana refused to look at the ultrasound screen. 

Newt looked at his hands.

Ari _did_ look, but could make out nothing in the black and white snow.

Suddenly, Cheri began to speak in a whisper. “Ana, your scan will need to be reviewed by a doctor, for your full results, and I’ve more views to collect. But, I DO see two strong heartbeats, so hang in there, Ana. Okay?”

Ana sobbed harder but nodded.

”Thank you, my dear,” Ari managed. “How enormously humane of you. I really appreciate it.”

Cheri smiled. “Thank you...er? Dad? Are you the Dad?”

”Oh no, that’s the Dad,” Ari said pointing at Newt. “I’m afraid I’m not anybody.”

At the same moment, and louder, Ana interjected, with “Ari’s my brother. I might be the worst sister in the world, but, he’s my brother.”

  
“Well, you are a good brother, helping out,” Cheri said. “Not long now, Ana. These two are cooperating beautifully. I just want to take a few quick measurements to check for TTTS, while we are here.”

  
After the ultrasound was done, an A & E doctor appeared, and asked Ana what happened, and then hurried Newt and Ari out of the room, presumably to ask her again.

They waited in a little collection of chairs, at the back of L and D, smaller and more private than the main waiting room. After about twenty minutes, the doctor joined them.

  
  
“We are going to do a head CT because she is altered, and has hit her head. I’d also like an ankle X-ray to rule out a break. The radiologists will do everything they can to reduce radiation exposure to the fetuses, but we do need these tests to take care of Ana.”

Newt nodded slowly. “Okay. If Ana says it’s okay.”

The doctor paused. “From what she’s reported, I think she had a mental-health event, of some kind. Nervous breakdown isn’t a medical term but... it’s something you may have heard of. The behaviour she’s described is alarming, and I think indicative of serious underlying mental distress. Now... assuming I’m right and her physical tests are clear, I think she would benefit from some inpatient care. Now, is a private mental health care hospital a financial possibility? Do you have private insurance or...”

”No,” Newt replied. “Our finances have been tight, until quite recently, and...”

”That’s all right,” the doctor interrupted. “I’d just prefer to avoid the public mental-health wards, if we can. They... well, they are all full anyway, and not really the place for someone like Ana. What I’ll do is, I’ll talk to the on-call obstetrician, and see if we can get her admitted on their service. Evaluation for possible atypical pre-eclampsia, or something. It’s probably worth ruling out, anyway. We can get a full psych evaluation, while that’s happening and see where we are. They might not do it, since you are still at least a few weeks from viability, but they might, under the circumstances. I’ll make some calls. Excuse me.”

”I think I, maybe, took in a third of what he said, if that,” Newt said softly, after the doctor left.

Ari touched his shoulder. “That’s all right, Newt. I’ve got it. And... we don’t have to _do_ anything, for now. They are just sorting out the logistics of getting her a hospital bed. We just have to wait, and stay with her, I guess. Why don’t you pop your head in, and I’ll track you down a cup of tea...”

”Ari, I’m sorry about before,” Newt interrupted. “All the things I said, with Crowley. All those things... The way he kept criticising Ana, I don’t know, but it made me see red, suddenly, and I couldn’t... I _love_ her, Ari. Because, she knows everything about me, and she still loves _me_. I never thought anyone would love me like that, and... and she kicked me out, and... and the truck... and then, the things Crowley was saying... and it’s inexcusable, I know. But, I was just.. so... angry, and I love her so much, and... oh, I’m not making any sense, at all.”

“But you are, Newt, dear,” Ari replied. “You must be, because I _understand_. Perhaps more than you realise, right now. But... I think we need to...to put a pin in all this, and take care of Ana, for now. And take care of you. But, Newt, you’ve never judged me by the worst of my symptoms, and I don’t plan on doing so to you.”

  
Newt looked at him, astonished. “Symptoms..? I don’t... I’m not... am I?” 

  
“Well, I would think so, my dear,” Ari replied gently. “So, let’s just assume as such, for now, for now, and, let it rest. All right. So, sitting and tea. That’s the plan.”

Ari dropped the still-quiet and shaken Newt, back with Ana in her cubicle, and went of to search for tea. Hit by a wave of exhaustion, he paused, by the elevator, to pull out his phone, and text Crowley the available news.

He half-heartedly hoped that Crowley would be asleep, and wouldn’t answer. 

  
  
But, the almost instantaneous reply warmed his traitorous heart, and he felt just a little better, despite himself. 

He squinted to make out the words, under the harsh fluorescent light  
  


> Well, thank fuck for heartbeats! And if they need stuff, just buy it. I’m mad as fuck at both of them right now, but still buy it, yeah? I miss you, Angel. I love you

Ari leaned against the wall, and allowed himself a few tears of exhaustion.

> I love you too. Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to those I upset with the last chapter. Thank you for taking the time to tell me. If it helps, we are close to the end now, and the angst will be easing off.


	24. Chapter 24

Crowley stared vacantly at the television. He’d been watching a documentary on the tudors, but Henry the 8th has turned his stomach, what with the spousal abuse and murders, and so he’d switched over to cricket, which was boring as all hell, but at least no one was killing anybody.

Every now and then, he’d pick up his phone and check for a new message from Ari. If there wasn’t one, he would read the last one, and the one before, over and over again.

More than anything, he wanted to _send_ texts. A barrage of texts. A thousand promises of love and safety. But... chances were, that would only be alarming, and so Crowley allowed himself only one text per two hours, sent at seventeen minutes past the hour, to disguise how desperate he was to send them.

There _was_ a new text since he’d last looked. Crowley’s heart lept.

> On my way home. Have triple caramel swirl.

_Do you want me to be here?_ Crowley almost texted... but didn’t. Because Ari did. He must. Because that’s why he mentioned the ice cream, right?

_Right_?

On the television, a shot to the fence disturbed a flock of seagulls. Crowley decided he was on the seagulls side.

Then, Ari arrived home, with a rattle of keys.

“Hello, Anthony dear. I’m home. I lent Newt the car, because we haven’t got his back yet, and it looks like Ana might be in hospital for a while. Maybe even until the babies are born, which might be a little earlier than planned. Something about a placenta? Can’t say I caught the details, but there was much wittering about her blood pressure, and her nervous exhaustion, and some acronym with lots of T’s in it. I suppose the important thing is, that a plan is..... _oh, my dear!_ You look so tired. Did you sleep?”

Crowley shook his head, eyes stinging. “Couldn’t sleep. Bed was empty.”

“Oh, Anthony,” Ari sighed, abandoning his shopping, and sitting next to Crowley on the lounge, his fingers sliding along the back of Crowley’s neck, into Crowley’s hair, caressing softly. “You really _must_ sleep.”

Crowley sniffed. “Do you mean here? Or do you want me to find somewhere else to stay for a while...?”

“Anthony, dear,” Ari exhaled the endearment, in a long sigh. “Pleasedon’t upset yourself. I won’t deny that we have some talking to do, and perhaps, some new expectations to set. But, I don’t want to be apart from you, we need to figure out how to be better together.”

“But, I’ve _never_ been good enough for you,” Crowley replied, voice cracking without permission. “And now, I’ve frightened you, and _disappointed_ you, and...”

“Oh, hush! How can you say that I’ve never been good enough for you? You are wealthy, accomplished and so handsome,and when you met me I was homeless and jobless, with only stolen money to my name. And then the thing with Gabriel, and I became _even more_...”

“Angel, I swear, if the sentiment you are about to express is anything within a mile of ‘ _damaged goods_ ’, I’ll....”

“You’ll _what_?”

“.... I’ll throw a pie in your face,” Crowley answered, stupidly.

Ari shook his head. “But, we haven’t _got_ any pie.”

“Then, I’ll bake one. Just to throw at you. Hell, I’ll even grow and mill the wheat, and plant the apple trees, if I have to.”

“This is apple pie, then?” Ari asked. “I do believe that the traditional choice is banana creme.”

“Too cold here to grow bananas,” Crowley sniffed. “Gotta be apples. I’ll plant a grove right now.”

“Then, it will take you years before they fruit any apples.”

“Don’t care,” Crowley muttered. “I am _extremely committed_ to you NOT talking about yourself that way.”

Ari smiled, softly. “Well... thank you for that, my dear. That’s a lovely, if inane, threat.”

Crowley sighed. “You can’t see how wonderful you are, can you? Don’t you realize you’ve been a _hero_ , the last few days? Quite on top of the Enoch thing. You’ve left the house multiple times, always for other people....”

“... not _terribly_ heroic. I always had someone with me...”

“AND you walked into a wooded area...”

“... different wood, entirely. Ana was in Hog-back Wood...”

“AND you went back to the hospital, where...”

“...I’ll admit that was pretty awful, but Newt and Ana needed me. Oh Anthony, it was _ghastly_! Newt and I found Ana, in the woods, and... it turned out she thought Newt had been hit by that lorry... some news site put up someone’s dashcam footage... she thought he was _dead_. She was just sitting in the mud, all quiet, and then, when she saw him, she started _howling_ , and sort of clambered into his lap like... like a wounded animal, somehow, and she was only wearing a robe, and we didn’t know what had happened...”

“No one _hurt_ her, did they?” Crowley asked alarmed.

“No, my dear!”

“Oh, thank god. Otherwise, I’d have to have someone _else_ whacked...”

Ari blinked at him.

“... What? _Too soon_?”

“You are incorrigible, my dear,” Ari sighed. “No. She thought herself all alone in the world, and just sort of tried to spirit herself away, I think. Anyway. The important thing is that I make sure she never feel that way again. That even if, God forbid, anything _did_ happen to Newt, that she’d still have me.”

“Us,” Crowley sighed. “She’d still have me too. I mean, I am ticked off with her, but not _go-starve-in-the-street-with-your-babies_ ticked off. Not that I’d be that useful with babies. But, I’m sure I could handle the basics, like feeding them. And stopping them licking the electrical sockets. That’s most of parenting, right?”

Ari laughed. “You, my dear, are a natural-born eccentric uncle. And you can get these plastic things for the electric sockets.”

“Probably best they don’t lick the plastic things either, though, right?”

Ari kissed him, then. “Oh come here, you,” he said and kissed him again.

“I love you,” Crowley whispered. “Oh actually! I’ve an idea. Do you want to go to a ball, with me, in a few weeks? Now that you are so excellent at leaving the house?”

Ari blinked. “A _ball_? Like, chandeliers, dancing and chamber music?”

“That sort of thing, yeah. Only, it’s a Drag-optional Memorial Ball, so, I’m thinking it might be more glitter and Ariana Grande ? Eric’s organizing it. It’s for Michael.”

“Well, if it’s for Michael, I’ll definitely go. Although, I don’t know who Ariadne Grundy is. Also? I don’t have anything to wear. What should I wear?”

Crowley smiled. “Absolutely anything you want. Savile Row Black Tie? A Vivienne Westwood gown? I’ll get you _absolutely anything_ you want. We can go shopping in Milan? Or Paris? I’ll explain the last thirty years of music to you. Or _try to_ , anyway. And, we can go in a fancy town car, or the Bentley. Drink champagne, and dance. There’ll be press, but you don’t have to talk to them. Just... go to a fancy do, have fun, and be gorgeous, in a ball room full of our people.”

“That does sound nice,” Ari said. “Going to a ball, with you. I’ll be the envy of everyone with functional eyeballs.”

Crowley couldn’t help it. He reached up, and caressed Ari’s cheek, unshaven for over a day, the fine stubble flicking under his finger tips. “Maybe they will envy you. But, it’s me who they _should_.”

”Nonsense.”

”Nah, I mean it, Angel. You are the best person I’ve ever met. Kind to your core, no matter what life throws at you. Brave, and loyal. I mean you are even making me soup, right now. After the couple of days you’ve had.”

Ari frowned. “But, I’m _not_ making you soup. I mean, I absolutely _will_ make you soup, if you want soup. But, I’m not _currently_ making you soup.”

”You are, though,” Crowley answered serenely. “You’ve left the ice-cream you bought out of the freezer. That’s your recipe for ice-cream soup, isn’t it?”

”You are an absolute _fiend_ , Anthony Crowley. _My_ absolute fiend. What am I going to do with you?”

”Well, you look so tired, my Angel. So, what I suggest you do with me, is wrap my arms around you, let me take you to bed, and fall asleep in my arms, while I fall asleep on yours. And then, in the morning, you can take me out to the woodshed.”

”We don’t have a woodshed!!!”

”It’s next to the you-are-not-damaged-goods Apple Grove.”

Ari sighed again, and gave Crowley another sweet kiss.

”Fiend,” he whispered.

Crowley kissed him back.

  
“Angel.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Mentions of pregnancy complications, premature birth, homophobia, AIDS, transphobia, violence, murder, suicide.

“You are doing so well,” Crowley cooed, and Ari’s heart leapt, in spite of himself. He _wasn’t_ doing well, he was sure, he had always been a horrid dancer. But, there was something about dancing with Crowley... something that made one not care how one looked, something that made the opinion of others irrelevant; the world shrunk to the space between them, and the world was joyful.

“I think you are ready for a spin, Angel. Ready to spin?”

“I shall fall on my face!” Ari laughed.

Crowley shook his head, smiling. “No you, won’t. I’ve got you. Ready... and...”

Something resembling a spin was accomplished, with only a very little tripping, leaving Ari laughing, and Crowley, from the look of it, trying very hard not too.

“Well, it was your idea!” Ari giggled happily, and even tried batting his eyelashes.

“Don’t!” Crowley whined. “It’s already _unfair_ that you are wearing eyeliner, with eyes like _that_! You absolutely **may not** bat your eyelashes at me! This spine has to last me all night, and you’re _melting_ it!”

Apart from the eyeliner, Ari was wearing a black herringbone dress coat, and most of the accouterments of white tie. The bow tie had, sadly, proved too upsetting, but he’d substituted a rainbow, silk dress-scarf, that had already attracted several compliments.

Crowley, naturally, had not opted for anything half so conventional. He’d opted for a black leather crock coat with large, streampunk inspired buckles, tight leather pants, riding boots, a wide belled top hat, and even a smoked-glass monocle. It was, in other words, an outfit he’d precisely calibrated to end up on best and worst dressed lists, in roughly equal numbers...

...And, of course, he somehow looked stunning in it.

  
“Have you seen B?” Ari asked. “The collar on that jacket is absolutely astonishing. Almost architectural. I’ve no idea how it was made. Aren’t people clever?”

”I did see, yeah,” Crowley replied. “I saw B was _smiling_. That was nice to see.”

“Poor Eric looks nervous, though, doesn’t he?” Ari mused. “It’s a shame, when everything is going so well. He’s worked so hard!”

Crowley smiled. “It will be the speech, Angel. We’ll get some champagne into him, afterwards, and make sure he has a good time. Maybe you can try out some of your new dance moves on him?”

“In a ball room full of bright, young things?” Ari scoffed. “I wouldn’t think of wasting his time! I’ve already found my perfect dance partner. Maybe Eric’s is here somewhere?”

Crowley’s eyes crinkled. “Is that where your mind is, Angel? Secretly hoping that Eric meets the one-true-love-of-his-life at a ball? Are you, secretly, a _romantic_?”

Ari shrugged. “Isn’t that what the elderly are supposed to do at balls? Match-make the young?”

“I think traditionally, what the elderly did at balls is to make sure the young didn’t sneak off, to impregnate each other, in the linen presses.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound like any of our business, frankly.”

Crowley agreed. “Let’s just get smashed on champagne and dance, then.”

Ari sighed. “Actually, speaking of pregnancy... big day, tomorrow. I’m so _worried_ for them, Anthony. Ana so badly wanted the twins to stay in until 27 weeks. Apparently it makes all the difference.”

Crowley sighed. “Well, 26 is _ALMOST_ 27.”

“I don’t think it works that way...”

“There’s a good chance they’ll be fine, Angel. And, if they need some extra help in life, later on, well, that’s what over-cashed, eccentric uncles are _for_. There’s no point worrying now. Let’s just try to have fun. Ohh, I think Eric’s about to speak! Shall I heckle him? I’m a good heckler, me...”

“Hush _immediately_ , you fiend.”

  
After Dana introduced him- Dana herself never needed an introduction- Eric approached the microphone, to the sound of applause, smiled sweetly. He fumbled his cue cards, setting off some warm laughter, and then began.

> “Good evening, everybody. Welcome to, and thank you so much for attending, the inaugural Michael Kemp Memorial Ball. 
> 
> “Our community is big, bright and beautiful. We have our problems, and do not always treat each other perfectly, but, I hope, we will keep learning to see each other, a little better, day-by-day. I hope we will stand together, and, by standing together, make the world see us. See us, as we _really are_ , whether it wants to or not. 
> 
> “Tonight, we remember four, in particular, that we have lost. Four, among many, that did not live to see that hope become real. Four, who were not _properly seen._
> 
> “Their chosen families have come here tonight, bring photos and other memories which you see projected on the walls around you. Tonight we honour, and remember, and _see_.
> 
> “We remember Harry Asquith, who died this year. He wanted, more than anything, to be buried next to the love of his life, Robert, who he lost to AIDs in 1986. Robert and Harry had ten happy years together. But they weren’t allowed to say goodbye to each other, when Robert died, because Robert’s family did not allow it. 
> 
> “After his cancer diagnosis, Harrymoved mountains to buy the burial plot next to Robert’s. So they could be together, forever, just like they wanted to be. But, Harry’s family broke their promise, after his death, and had Harry cremated instead, and sold the plot for cash. They spread Harry’s ashes at an unknown location before Harry’s friends could intervene. 
> 
> “Tonight we remember Harry and Robert, and their love. Tonight we see that love, for the wonderful thing it really was and hold it in our hearts for them.
> 
> “Tonight we remember Nikki Lee. Nikki had only just turned eighteen when she died. She loved to paint, and to draw, and was rarely seen without her sketchbook. She also loved dogs. She and her girlfriend Sasha used to spend their free time, together, volunteering at animal shelters, walking the dogs, playing with them, and socialising them. Getting them ready to find a forever family.
> 
> “But Nikki’s family couldn’t accept that she was bisexual. They threw her out on her eighteenth birthday. Sasha’s family was willing to take Nikki in. But, Nikki never arrived at Sasha’s house that night. Her body was found the next day, in the Thames. We don’t know for sure how Nikki died, but we do know that her family refused to claim her body, and that Sasha was not legally permitted to. Nikki was cremated by the local authority and her remains are in an unmarked grave.
> 
> “Sasha plans to open a dog shelter in Nikki’s honour, and tonight we join Sasha in remembering her.
> 
> “Tonight we remember Michael Kemp. Michael wanted to make the police force better. She spent her career investigating corruption and violence. She wanted to hold power accountable. That power bullied and shunned Michael, but she didn’t quit. She had friends that would have found a place for her elsewhere, but for Michael, holding the police accountable was a calling. But the bullying wore her down. She struggled. 
> 
> “When Michael died, her parents arranged her funeral. Even though they knew Michael had never voluntarily put on a dress in her life, they buried her in one. They evicted her ex-girlfriend from her funeral, and used the occasion to solicit donations for a church program who tortured Michael as a teen.
> 
> “Tonight we remember Michael, and how she stood up for the powerless. In killer pant suits.
> 
> “Tonight we remember Talia London. Talia worked as a sex worker her in London. She volunteered extensively with homeless people and was something of a local institution in her native Brixton. She always had some Narcan in her knock-off Prada purse,and never, in her forty-three years on this Earth, did she let her first-aid certification lapse. Her friends tell me that she saved at least twelve lives on the Brixton streets.
> 
> “Talia was murdered. No one has ever been arrested for her murder. Talia was buried under a man’s name. A name she had left for dead.
> 
> “Tonight we remember Talia, as the beautiful woman she was, and her real name.
> 
> “So, I ask everyone here tonight to lower your heads for Harry, for Nikki, for Michael, and for Talia. Or raise your glasses to them. Cry for them, or dance for them. Shout their names from mountain tops, leave wreaths for them in the ocean.
> 
> “Just _do not forget them_. Remember their passions, and their kindness, and their loves and their lives as they lived them. Remember  their names.”

The room filled with applause, and with a few tears.

“Some speech,” Crowley observed, blinking suspiciously.

“Can’t say I noticed much heckling,” Ari whispered back.

Crowley hissed at him, affectionately. “Want to see if we can find that Sasha girl, and donate to her dog shelter?”

“I think that’s her in the red suit with the heavenly curls,” Ari replied. “And, you might have to get in line. I want to go congratulate Eric on the speech. He did really well, and public speaking is _such_ a nightmare.”

“Good thinking,” Crowley answered. “Although, from the looks of it, there might be a line for that, too. And, meet you here, right after. I’m not done dancing with you, yet.”

“Nor am _I_ done dancing with _you_ , my dear,” Ari replied. 

He was certain he never would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story. Thank you especially for those who left kudos, and so many wonderful comments. I couldn’t have got through this story without you.


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